in different universes we exist (and so our love)
by pwmo
Summary: AUs collection for Valentine's Day. It's different every time. First thing is a voice. The taste of instant ramen and the sound of busy hours come second. The third is a brief exchange. Again, and again, and again. Falling in love isn't something you plan: it's a sudden rain catching you in the middle of the street, with no umbrella or proper coat. Getting drenched is unavoidable.
1. The voice of beauty speaks softly

"Dear darling,

As we pace headlong and heedlessly through this troublesome exercise of existing, there will be those who will look upon us with fool eyes and decide that we are crazy.

And these people are what one would call correct.

You are a crazy adventurer, I am crazy enough to go on.

I am still not quite sure why you like me, let alone _**love me**_ , but it is quite a thing that you do.

Happy Birthday.

(I still maintain that you said _**I love you**_ first.)"

– 8-bitfiction

* * *

11:30 PM. He shakes the customer's hand and smiles. _"I hope to have business with you again"_ he says before seeing them out, finally breathing for the first time since morning.

He goes back to the office to gather his stuff and go home, aware of the business meetings he'll have to attend tomorrow from an inhumanly early hour. There's no rest for brokers, not if you are as good as he is; so he stores the documents related to this last transaction, answers some e-mails concerning other clients and updates his agenda, leaving notes for the secretary to be sure everything's ready by the time he arrives to the office tomorrow.

xox

The ride home is quiet: usually he'll set up some music to ease his nerves – absolute silence makes him extremely uncomfortable – but he's not in the mood for radio. In his head, he hums himself some The Smiths's songs before reaching his estate and parking the car.

First thing, he throws the coat on the hanger and knocks away his shoes, followed by the necktie he dislikes so much and those damned suspenders that left painful red marks on his shoulders ( _note to self_ : buy a new pair. Going all day with elastics pressed on the skin decreases his productivity and rottens his mood).

He eats surrounded by a pleasant quietness, heart fluttering with anticipation as he savours the peace of mind that'll come. He grasps his phone, scrolling through the so many apps until he finds what he was searching and, half-grinning, he runs it. Mind you, he's not fond of SNS – a Facebook profile left abandoned and some work related platform is all he cared to have – but _this_ app had talked to him, impossible to resist, and so he downloaded it: the first social network voice based, where people just uploaded or livestreamed themselves while reading or talking. Unbelievable how much hearing strangers' voices could relax him after a long day in office.

Recently added. _Scroll, scroll, scr–_ oh. He feels the familiar ache in his heart reading _Rai820 uploaded a new audio_ and before he knows his finger already pressed play.

Today it's a passage from _Frankenstein_ , read with the softest voice ever heard. Yesterday it was the first chapter from _Oh, The Places You'll Go_ , a book he loves from the bottom of his heart. The first time he listened to Rai820 he got _Titus Andronicus_ and was immediately hooked. Six weeks, an upload every day, heart loud in his chest every time the audio starts.

" _And now, dear Margaret, do I not deserve to accomplish some great purpose?"_

He closes his eyes, focusing on the wildness of the beating of the heart in his chest, a so foreign feeling he recently discovered that makes him feel giddy.

" _Oh, that some encouraging voice would answer in the affirmative!"_

Intoxicating.

He waits for the audio to finish, clicks on Rai820's profile and stops. There's no real personal information there: male, 26 years old, likes ramen, tea and reading. _Of course_ he loves reading, otherwise his audios wouldn't be so emotional.

Frankenstein restarted, and he taps his fingers on the table. His heart is still thumping badly.

 _I love your voice_ , he writes in the comment section. Then he regrets it, but it's already too late. Whining, he munches on the last slice of pizza and throws the box.

xox

It's _Gone With The Wind_ today. In religious silence he listens as the world slurs on the man's tongue, resonating in his mouth, coming out clear like water flowing in a river, captivating, and he realizes he could listen to Rai820 talking forever.

" _...It cannot have escaped your notice that for some time past the friendship I have had in my heart for you has ripened into a deeper feeling, a feeling more beautiful, more pure, more sacred. Dare I name it you? Ah! It is love which makes me so bold!"_

He trails off, stops listening to the sweet voice for a second, and when he's back to the track Rai820 has stopped reading and is answering the suggestions his listeners left in the comment box.

God, is it possible to fall in love with someone over just their voice? Because for someone who's never fallen in love, he's pretty sure it must feel like this.

" _...and to user VicLee, your comment has made me very happy. I hope I'll hear your voice too, one day."_

Yes, it's possible. Absolutely possible. He'll upload something, it's decided. He'll upload a hundred, _thousands_ of tracks – hoping Rai820 will fall in love with his voice as much as he did.

But for tonight, it's just a broker and the recorded tracks of _Gone With The Wind_.

* * *

Hi everyone, it's pwmo again with some one shots for another beautiful event. I hope you enjoyed what you read so far, I wrote this thing at 2 AM because who needs sleep? Surely not me. Anyway, I posted the chapter earlier than the set date (which is 14th of February) just to remind you lovely people of the event! You'll see lots of good works, this fandom really has some wonderful writers/artists and I'm sure you'll enjoy it!

First AU inspired by an existent voice based SNS (and the movie _Her_ , which is some good shit so. Watch. It.) and the characters are Frankenstein (user VicLee, the broker) and Raizel (but you certainly got that one, hm?) and you can't understand how much I loved writing this thing here. A lot, I tell you.

I think one can get a lot of information about a person from their voice, and that's why I find it so endearing. To be enamored of one's voice is to love a part of them (watch _Her_.  Really.) and I wanted to try writing about a "different" way of falling in love - because sometimes it happens and you don't notice, setting it aside thinking it's something else. Sometimes it is, sometimes it's not _(this is what happens when I'm sleep deprived, I think about the meaning of life, the universe, my place in the world and how to stop climate change)._

Now, back to the story: underline+italic is for recorded voice; italic is for thoughts or direct dialogue (or comments).

The title comes from Nietzsche's quote " _the voice of beauty speaks softly; it creeps only into the most fully awakened souls_ "; the quote at the start of the chapter is from an image published by FB page 8-bitfiction that I recommend because it's SO GOOD. The quotes in the chapter are from passages from the actual books in my possession.

As always, if you notice mistakes please tell me: I have no beta and English is not my native language but I want to improve, point my mistakes out so I can be better ❀◕ ‿ ◕❀

Thank you once again, see you in another universe (suggestions are well accepted!)

pwmo


	2. on Tuesday we eat ramen

If he had to choose the worst day of the week, you can bet everything you have on him saying Tuesday. Victor hates Tuesdays with all his might – and for a completely understandable reason: craze-inducing coupons.

Someone – may they and their family be damned for this – had the brilliant idea of delivering discount coupons on Mondays; needless to say, hordes of people would crowd the convenient store from early hours, giving no break to those poor souls at work just for that simple reason. Victor, of course, always had the _best_ turn on Tuesday – he started on " _the fever"_ hour, noon.

«–and so the vet recommended me a new shampoo brand, which is _way_ more expensive than the last one and–»

Milk, sugar, a lot of flour, two cucumbers, dried meat.

«–you should have seen him! It was like he was _possessed_! Such madness I never–»

Six toothbrushes. Who the hell needs so many toothbrushes? Victor doesn't know, _doesn't even want to know_ , just scans the six pieces and goes on.

«–but of course my nephews know how to set the alarms on these demonic devices, so I asked them to–»

Victor sees the end when his hand closes around the last bottle of lemon tonic. Among the _beeps, blip, tac_ he can even hear the bells from Heaven and they call him, play for him, singing "one day you'll be rewarded for your patience" and it's reassuring.

«Have a lovely day Mrs. Atkinson.» The shopper is full, ready to go home. When she smiles, he reciprocates and takes the money.

When the automatic doors close behind her back, Victor breaks the record for _longest sigh of relief in the world_ and knows he deserves to. Yes, he positively hates Tuesdays.

xox

«I swear to God, next time she starts talking about her cat I'm fucking stabbing myself in the eyes,» he scoffs, opening a bottle of water and relishing his freedom.

«Come on, it could've been worse,» Craig says, opening a can of beer and drinking it one-go, «you could've dealt with Mister "I bought this discounted to two-fourty but I only have two come on it's not that much difference let me have it anyway".» True enough, but still.

«Yes,» Hannah, cutie pie of the store, loved and protected by all her co-workers, smacks her lips to check the lipstick, «or the woman with her demon child, I swear he's possessed by some unknown evil.»

It comes to Victor that they really don't have many normal customers coming to their store, except–

«Hey Vic, your favorite customer's back.»

It takes a second for him to scramble to his place, trying to look professional and collected while the man in question strolls next to him and inside the aisles. Victor sighs. Lona, the woman who called him back, looks at him with resignation.

«You're hopeless.» It sounds disgusted, but the smirk on her face tells him otherwise. He catches movement behind him: Hannah and Craig observe him with newfound excitement, like they're watching a new episode of a popular soap opera.

It started a month and a half ago. This new customer – a good looking young man, simple dressed and surprisingly quiet – entered the store one Tuesday evening with resolution in his eyes and left with two bags of instant ramen. On Friday, he was back with a box of lemon tea. Each Tuesday he would come in and purchase the same ramen and on Friday there was tea. His weird routine and his good looks caught the attention of every worker there – Victor included, because this new guy was absolutely gorgeous.

«Good evening.» He starts, flashing him the best of his smiles. Hannah snickers. " _Way to flirt, you playboy!"_ she whispers.

«Hello.» Ramen boy reciprocates his smile and _oh lord this is a blessing._ It's the most beautiful, heartwarming smile Victor has seen in his life. Addicting, if he dares to say.

«So, looks like you have a thing for ramen.» This time it's Craig whispering " _he said "have a thing" oh my god it's too much"_ and choking on his laughter. Victor silently hopes he does.

«It's good. I like it.»

Victor's smile widens in a flirty smirk. Ramen boy hands him the money.

«All this instant food isn't healthy, you know?» Ramen boy lightly shrugs his shoulders at his words and tucks a strand of jet black hair behind his ear.

«You should try real ramen, I tell you.» Victor goes on, leaning all the way over the counter with his chin resting on his hand. His smirk only grows wider, brighter, more confident.

«I'll try. Thank you.» Ramen boy bows his head and takes the bags, then moves to leave the store.

The snickers behind him increase – Victor knows Hannah and Craig are going to pester him to death about it. Lona, on the other hand, looks at him with a grave expression, as to say "what the fuck are you doing?", which exists because either a), he shamelessly flirted with a customer on his workplace or b), because said customer is leaving and he didn't accomplish anything. Knowing Lona, the latter is the most plausible. Which is why Victor clears his throat, and then–

«I know a place where you can find the best ramen ever, I can take you there.» He blurts out, regretting it two milliseconds later.

He asked a customer out for dinner. He asked a customer _he doesn't even know_ out for dinner.

" _Wouldn't it be neat if the world imploded right now?"_ he thought to himself. Hannah rushed out, laughter out of control.

" _Like, in this exact moment."_

Ramen boy looks at him with deer-caught-in-the-headlights eyes.

" _Let the ground swallow me whole."_

«I–» Ramen boy averts his eyes and _is he blushing?_ «I'd like that.»

Victor is frozen on the spot. Everyone's still. Time has stopped flowing and space is warping on itself. Dimensions are crumbling – is this the end of the world?

They gaze at each other and Victor's face is burning hot, as if the blood flowing once again. Victor clears his throat, aware that things have become awkward.

«I'm Victor, by the way.»

Ramen boy smiles. «Raizel. I'll wait for you on Friday.» Assertive – can someone that blushes so prettily be assertive? - Raizel waits, bathing in Victor's reaction before finally leaving.

xox

Lona watches the automatic doors closing, smirking all the way until Ramen boy is nowhere to be seen. Then, she takes an appreciative look at Victor.

«Hannah, Craig,» she calls, «pretty Tuesday regular just sent Victor out of commission!»

* * *

Hi everyone, it's pwmo! Thank you for putting up with me and my writing once again, I hope you liked it!

This one was actually the first I thought about because I'm always up for some good worker/customer AUs and I'll stop thinking about it when I'm dead. Maybe.

I call him Victor because it's an AU set in the real world and Frankenstein sounded too weird so brace yourself because he'll be "Victor" in a lot of one-shots. As for Rai, he'll mostly be Raizel (no surnames for anyone).

Let's go to the very important business: updates. I have some chapters done, but I'll post them separately. This collection doesn't have a set number of chapters, so I'm gonna do lots of updates!

As always, I'd like to receive some suggestions from you! What would you like to see? Would you like AUs like these but made differently? Maybe with other pairings (even though I don't know if I'll be able to write something about pairings I don't like, sorry, I'm a bit narrow-minded when it comes to my otps), I promise I'll take everything into consideration!ヽ(^◇^*)/

If you want to say something to me, send suggestions, check for updates or just fangirl over your otps - whatever fandom, I'll listen with pleasure - you can find me on my tumblr (link on my profile page) (●´ω｀●)

Thank you for your patience!

pwmo


	3. A Gallehault indeed, that tabby cat

**Warnings:** **swear words** (and brief mentions of sex, like, I wrote "sex" two times but still)

"We lived across the street from each other. He was so shy that I didn't even think he spoke English. One night I heard a car idling outside for over an hour. I went to see what was going on, and I found him passed out drunk in his car. So not exactly love at first sight but it grew from there."

\- Humans of New York.

* * *

At first, he's sure he's hearing things. Maybe it's the child on the 4th floor. Maybe it's the young couple having rough sex two doors down. Maybe he's hallucinating after a sleepless night.

The world is full of possibilities.

But then it happens again and he can hear it clearly, the feeble, high-pitched cry coming from outside, and sure it doesn't sound like a crying child or loud sex.

So he stands from the bed, back aching from the old mattress and the hours spent sitting on a chair, and paces around the room trying to locate the source of this heartbreaking sound, coming to a halt right next to the window.

That's how the story of "how Raizel ends up in precarious balance outside the window" starts.

Was there a need for it? No. But did he have to do it? Absolutely – the mewling tabby cat he's rescuing agrees.

Trouble is said cat is frozen on the spot in a dangerous place he couldn't reach from his window and he couldn't get there without climbing the walls. So here it is, 23-years-old broke college student now playing Messner to save a tabby cat he doesn't even know. Kind-hearted people have it hard.

 _xOx_

He's in a tight spot. No matter how brilliant he _knows_ to be, he still overlooked an important detail: with the cat in his arms, there's no way he can climb down to his apartment.

Raizel looks at the cat. It purrs. Dejected, he lets out a tiny sigh before contemplating the situation he's stuck into. When he raises his head, a blond-haired guy he doesn't know looks at him from behind a nearby window.

«Uh, hey buddy.» Blond guy clears his throat and looks at him, uncomfortable. Raizel acknowledges his presence by giving a small nod in his direction.

«I don't know what happened but, uh, this isn't the right solution.» Awesome, now one of his neighbors thinks he wants to suicide.

«I don't really–»

Blond guy panics and stutters. «I'm sure you think you can't go on, but you're wrong. You have people that love you out there, whatever happened it's not worthy. Talk to someone about it, you'll feel better. They say.»

Raizel sighs again. Man, he isn't even listening! And if he only looked at him properly, Blond guy would notice the tabby cat in his arms but _no,_ that would be too easy.

«I'm Victor by the way.»

«Your prep-talk was awful. Good thing I'm not suicidal.» Nervous, Raizel tries not to fall off the narrow step he's on. The cat licks its paws, unfazed by the whole Maybe-I'll-Die-And-It-Will-Be-All-Your-Fault situation. Victor blinks once. Twice. The third time Raizel sighs again.

«If you're not... Why are you...?» Victor seems confused, and it's actually quite endearing.

Raizel gestures toward the cat. «It was crying, I had to do something.»

«And you thought climbing the building with your bare hands was a good idea?»

He shrugs his shoulders. «Guess so.»

There's a moment of silence, then Victor is laughing his ass off, tears pooling on his lower eyelids.

«That's the most absurd thing I've ever heard,» Victor says between the sparks of laughter. Raizel can't really argue with that because it truly is an absurd story, but right now the possible ending of this funny story doesn't sound as amusing. He has an idea.

«Hey, Victor.»

Victor sniffles. «What?»

Raizel shoves the cat in Victor's arms – actually, it's more like _throws_ because the cat flies for a brief moment before landing in Victor's baby blue sweater – and enjoys his very confused expression.

«What the f–» Raizel grips the balcony with his two hands and pushes his body up.

«Help me.» He glances to his hands and then looks at Victor, who finally gets what he's saying and grips his forearms; with a few more pushes and Victor's help, Raizel lands on his balcony safe and sound.

The cat mewls again and Raizel glares daggers in its direction before kneeling and petting its head, while Victor just stands there, flabbergasted, mouth agape and stuttering some words he can't catch.

«You're crazy,» Victor says, kneeling to pet the cat. The little animal seems content, rubbing its head against Victor's hand and purring loudly.

«Thank you for the lift,» Raizel answers, and then narrows his eyes when he notices the cat jumping into Victor's arms. «Way to be thankful, rubbing yourself against the one who didn't climb a building to save you.»

Victor just shrugs his shoulders in response.

 _xOx_

«Well,» Victor opens the door to let Raizel out, cat clutched to his body, «here's where our adventure ends. If anyone asks, I bribed you not to suicide with this cat. I have to sound cool in this story.»

Victor's laugh is nice, Raizel thinks. It's fresh, friendly, and genuine like he means every sound coming out from his mouth. He likes it. And he also likes the baby blue sweater – faintly reminding him that this Victor guy has clear blue eyes and _wow are they pretty –_ and the messy side ponytail Victor keeps brushing off with a hand.

There's a blush creeping on his face, and he's so busy thinking _if I blush here I'm so killing myself_ that he doesn't notice Victor is still talking. To him.

«Sorry, what?»

«I said,» Victor points to the cat, «next time you can just knock. My humble apartment will always be open to cats-savers with a disposition for life-risking situations.»

«I'll make sure to remember,» Raizel answers, meeting Victor's eyes a few times and wondering if he's always been so awkward when interacting with others (yes, he is). «When you're done unpacking,» he points to the boxes carefully stacked to the side of the room, «you can come visit this fellow here. If you want.»

The cat yawns and scratches his shirt for attention. Food, right.

The smile Victor gives him at this point is heart-melting. «I'll take you up on that.»

 _xOx_

It's only when Raizel closes the door of his own apartment, a furious blush over his face and a loud cat in his arms, that he realizes a) Victor just transferred so he doesn't know where he lives, and b) he forgot to tell Victor his name.

He'll figure out everything, eventually asking to the people in the building. If it doesn't work, Raizel is more than willing to climb the building one last time.

* * *

Ssup guys, pwmo here telling you all's fine with the world (or something like that).

I'm really sorry about the delay, I had planned to upload it last week but got caught up with real life and it was overwhelming. But here it is, late. Ya.

I find really difficult writing from Rai's perspective: maybe it's because the character is really quite and thoughtful and I can't really write that (language barrier and skills, y'know) in a way that doesn't make me want to stab myself in the eyes. It was a real hardship. Somehow something I find nice came out, but I don't know if I'll write many other Rai's POV fanfictions. Dunno, it's hard to come out from the comfort zone.

The prompt was "you found me hanging from a balcony and thought I was trying to kill myself but tbh I was just trying to save that cat and can you help me not dying?" and was suggested by a real life friend. Katia, this is for you and your lovely prompts, you know I love you.

If everything goes smoothly as I planned, I have some fics with some different pairings (because I know you're not all Frankenstein/Raizel trash like me) I will upload THIS very week.

Thank you for the patience and the attention, I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint anyone of you. If you find misspells/mistakes point them out to me, and if you have suggestions you can find me on tumblr (link in the bio)!

Last notes: Raizel probably sounds a bit OOC. As I said, I'm not very comfortable writing from his POV. I think it still works nicely, but as I am the writer I may not have the same perception as you. Tell me if you find him too OOC, so that if I'll write something else from his POV I'll put more care in it (still, remember it's an AU so he's somehow different from canon Raizel, but maybe it's too much.)

The initial quote is from a FB page I love which I suggest you visit because it has so many wonderful stories in it, and they're all real and beautiful in their own way.

A special thank you to user O.O who reviewed the two chapters, I'm glad you find this FanFiction enjoyable and I hope you'll keep being my reader!

To mayumi ako, who may read it: you suggested a Mafia AU (and I LOVE IT) but I had some troubles with the plot so I'm going to delay it because I wasn't satisfied. If you have some suggestions about Mafia AU you'd like I can try again with a different plot and see if it works. Thank you (ㆁᴗㆁ✿)

'Till next chapter, I hope you're satisfied! (man this author's notes get longer every time I post a chapter wtf)

pwmo ٩(●ᴗ●)۶


	4. on recovering from heartbreak: a guide

I don't care what's in your hair, I just wanna know what's on your mind; I used to say, "I wanna die before I'm old," but because of you I might think twice.

—We Don't Believe What's On TV, Twenty One Pilots

* * *

It's the tenth sigh in half an hour and he's had enough: with a last, irritated glance Ik-Han puts the tray down and turns on his heels, growling.

«Shinwoo, what place is this again?»

A mop of red hair rises from the counter it was glued to. « _Noblesse Oblige_ café.»

«What do we give to customers?»

Shinwoo sighs – it's sigh number eleven (not that Ik-Han is keeping count).

«Happiness and a smile in a cup of coffee,» he recites the café motto with less vitality than a dead man and Ik-Han frowns, pinching the bridge of his nose. Sigh number twelve.

«And how can we do that when you look like a zombie? Your depressing aura is scaring the customers away and makes me depressed too.»

Sigh number thirteen. Ik-Han can't anymore.

It's been two weeks since he got dumped ( _again_ ): Shinwoo usually recovers fast from heartbreak since he's confessing to the same girl and she's been telling him no since he was fourteen, so he's somehow used to it but something must have been different this time because Ik-Han swears that, in the whole fifteen years they've known, not once Shinwoo looked this disrupt. But, as much as he wants to be understanding, it needs to stop. Shinwoo's bad mood brought him to the brink of a mental breakdown and even though Ik-Han loves and cherishes their friendship, he also knows where he can hide his friend's corpse if the worst case scenario – him never stop moping – happens.

«You don't understand,» sigh number fifteen, «I'll never find someone like her, I'm going to die ugly and alone.» Ik-han rolls his eyes so much he's surprised he didn't see his brain. Why does Shinwoo have to be such a drama queen? No one knows, and no one ever will.

«I can't really say anything on that " _ugly_ " but Shinwoo, you're eighteen. I'm pretty sure it's too early for you to say that. You'll find someone else.»

«Yes, but no one like _her_.»

" _If he doesn't stop before our shift ends I'm so strangling him with my shoelaces"_ is the last thought Ik-Han has before serving the next customer.

 _xOx_

It's six o'clock by now and Ik-Han tries those relaxing and breathing exercises learned from Suyi.

He really, really didn't want the same shift as Shinwoo today. He knew he had it bad, but Ik-Han's empathy could only reach so far and, in his honest opinion, Shinwoo was overreacting.

He asked his co-workers for help, but _of course_ all of them weren't available for his shift; the only one who genuinely tried to help was Rai but Ik-Han had to say no, because knowing how sympathizing he could become when someone was feeling bad, it would have just backfired and resulted in _two_ depressed baristas.

The café is quiet. Rush hours are hard to handle and Ik-Han's glad the boss' policy is to assign them to older, experienced people. Ik-Han's especially glad today since he's stuck with someone looking like he was hit by a car several times.

He's cleaning the front counter and counting the last tips he got when the bell on the front door chimes, announcing yet another customer.

 _Customers,_ he corrects himself. _Foreigners._ A boy as tall as him – which is not much, but don't tell Ik-Han – walks in like he owns the place, glancing around with judging eyes and wrinkled nose. Next to him, a tall girl graciously adjusts her white coat and follows, eyes darting everywhere with a curious spark.

Ik-Han's knowledge about females isn't extensive, but it's enough to tell she surely is one of the most beautiful girls in the world. Ever. So, with his best smile, Ik-Han kicks Shinwoo in the calf, gesturing discreetly toward the duo who's approaching the counter. Shinwoo meets his gaze sighing – _thirty-seven –_ and trudges next to him.

It's Ik-Han who welcomes them inside. «Welcome to _Noblesse Oblige_ café, how can I help you?»

Small boy glares daggers at him for unknown reasons. «Where is he?»

Ik-Han cocks his head. Is he supposed to know this _him_?

«Pardon?»

«Tch,» the other party clicks his tongue, «useless. We have no time to waste, so tell us where he is.»

The girl next to him places a gentle hand on his shoulder and the tiny angry boy seems to recollect himself.

«We're searching for Rai. He works here.» She explains. _Of_ course _they're here to meet Rai_ , Ik-Han thinks. They even look similar – Rai and the girl, because the short one is surprisingly mean whereas Rai is soft and gentle – and have the same dignified aura that entices people all around.

«Ah, I'm sorry but Rai had the morning shift today. Come back tomorrow around this time, you'll find him for sure.»

The boy curses under his breath, flinching when silently reprimanded for his manners by the girl.

«It's okay. Sorry for the disruption.» She bows her head and then turns to Shinwoo, saying:«you have a beautiful earring.» The compliment catches the redhead's attention and Shinwoo isn't looking to his shoes anymore. The small boy gags and mumbles something that sounds like "inelegant" while Shinwoo blushes furiously, fingers brushing against the silver spike puncturing his lobe.

He tries to sound casual when thanking her, failing miserably when his voice cracks and he stutters. Ik-Han facepalms internally. _Man, Shinwoo is embarrassing to look at._

But the beautiful girl doesn't seem to mind, keeping her gentle eyes on him.

«Would you like, uh, something? It's on the house.» _It's not,_ Ik-Han side-eyes him with a frown.

«A black tea, if you don't mind.» _No, he doesn't mind,_ Ik-Han rolls his eyes and returns to his task, tired of looking Shinwoo embarrassing himself.

The tea is ready in double the time necessary because Shinwoo tries his best to keep the girl inside the café as long as possible - but it could also be because he dropped the cup with hot water three times and forgot to turn on the heater.

«By the way...» damn Shinwoo, back at it again with failing to sound casual, «how do you know Rai?»

Pretty Girl, left alone by Small Boy who's typing on his phone with a certain urgency (and frustration), sips her tea.

«He's a distant relative of ours.»

«More like a family friend, _duh,_ » _S_ mall Boy corrects, putting the phone away and ordering a small latte, «we know him since forever.»

«Cool, he's our best friend. Rais' such a nice guy.»

«You are too.» Pretty girl says, addressing Shinwoo with the warmest smile ever witnessed on Earth (Ik-Han would fight Sinwoo on this, saying the warmest one was Rai's smile over their Christmas present).

And before they know it, Rai's family friends are leaving and Shinwoo's prompts his chin on his hand, sighing a different type of sigh. Ik-Han restarts his count.

«Ik-Han.»

«Oh for the _love of_ –»

«I think I'm in love.»

 _xOx_

«So, Rai.»

The poor, oblivious guy stops stacking the coffee beans and looks up, waiting. Ik-Han feels sorry for him, because Shinwoo has plastered a devious grin on his face and is about to pester him about his family friends.

«Yesterday two people asked for you.» Rai nods, beckoning him to go on with the narration.

«A short boy with a resting disgusted face and the _prettie-_ a girl with long hair and a nice voice.»

«I see.» That's all Rai has to say about the encounter, but Shinwoo needs more.

«Childhood friend, uh? Neat.»

«You can say so.» With that Rai returns to his given task, oblivious to the nerve-wracked expression on Shinwoo's face. Ik-Han isn't surprised.

«So, uh, they looked really alike.»

«They're cousins.»

They are at stall. Shinwoo keeps beating around the bush with useless questions, while Rai, of course, ignores the reason behind this interrogation and just answers what he's asked with small passion. That's why Ik-Han decides to step in.

«Hey Rai, they're coming back today and I don't want to embarrass myself by pronouncing their names wrong. Can you tell me how're they called so I can practice?»

Rai almost looks grateful for his thoughtfulness and answers with the faint reminder of a smile:«Regis and Seira.»

 _Seira._

Ik-Han braces himself: a crushing Shinwoo might be better than a heartbroken one, but the sighing still sounds annoying.

* * *

Hey guys, pwmo on the line over here! I promised to update to make up for the two weeks of _absolute silence_ from my part and here it is! I hope you're not disappointed after all the time you had to wait (ㆆᴗㆆ)

I always thought the children didn't get enough screen time (apart from when they get kidnapped) and it's a _pity_ because I think it would help for various character developments (look what they did to the Trio c'mon, their Arc was amazing) **but** since we're not seeing them anytime soon, here I am filling some gaps. Some Alternative Universe's gaps, yay.

There's not much to say about this chapter I think, but if something isn't clear enough or you noticed plotholes and stuff tell me and I'll try to explain myself and correct where I can. As always, I'm depending on your corrections (✿╹◡╹)

A big "thank you" to user O.O who always leaves such nice reviews and keeps me motivated to go on!(*＞ｖ＜)ゞ*

To mayumi-ako: brace yourself, a Mafia AU is coming!

Thanks for sticking with me till now! Send prompts, AUs and pairings to my tumblr account, suggestions are always welcome!ღゝ◡╹)ノ


	5. The Devil wears Louboutin

Takeo knows many things. It isn't surprising: knowing things is his job, and he's superb at it.

For example, he knows the affiliates' names of every mafia family, how they spend their days, if they have any family, whether or not they're a threat and how much power they possess. He knows the history of _his_ family, the previous bosses' occupations, the actual Boss' circumstances.

And, of course, he knows about the _little problem_ about others' assumptions of their hierarchy.

 _xOx_

It's warm outside. A faint breeze caresses waves, boats, and harbors before reaching the street, the scent of salt pricking at his nostrils as he strides along the bridge. If this was an ordinary day he would take his time savoring the smell of the sea and looking at the seagulls roaming in the sky. However, this is no ordinary day and there's no time for leisure strolls or sightseeing.

Takeo has long legs and a quick pace, and it takes him no time to reach the garage and come to a halt when he spots a few familiar figures standing in front of it.

«What are you doing here?» He asks with a huff, catching his breath. There's hurry in his voice, and the rapid glances he sends to the garage door show his concern. Tao, cyber-security expert _slash_ mafia hacker, eyes him curiously, as to say "what do you mean?"

«We should be inside, it's an emergency!»

Tao shows some kind of acknowledgment of his distress but dismisses the urgency with a shrug of shoulders and a small chuckle. Next to him, professional hitman Michael lights a cigarette. Nothing about the way they act makes sense to Takeo.

«Relax Takeo. Someone _is_ taking care of the mess.» Tao sends a suggestive glance to the door. «When we got here the door was closed, but not _we haven't opened it yet_ closed, more like _do not disturb_ closed. We could go inside if we wanted, but we don't _have_ to. Do you get it?»

Takeo doesn't get it. In his mind, he replays the emergency message he got less than half an hour ago, how he jumped out of the bed and ran to the garage over and over again. It was a short message, a quick _SOS_ that showed the urgency of the situation; still, his associates weren't anywhere near bothered and just waited outside, killing time with conversation.

Michael taps on the cigarette and the ash falls to his feet. «Stop worrying. There's _him_ inside.»

And Takeo stops worrying immediately.

 _xOx_

There's a strong smell inside the garage, and Takeo and the others have been in the mob enough to immediately recognize it as _blood._

They all look around searching for proofs of the last activities, unsurprised to find none. They're professionals, and professionals don't kill or torture people in the middle of the common room where literally anyone could walk in; they had rooms for such activities, rooms where one could scream until their lung gave up and still be unheard from the world outside. Awfully convenient.

It's Tao who spots the two figures talking to each other in the back of the room. There's no need to ask for clearance to know their identities.

«Hi, Boss!» Tao waves with a grin, skipping to sit on his very own leather chair he so much brags about.

«Hello everyone!» Drying his hands with a towel, one of them – the tall, blond haired one – walks over to greet them with a cheery expression. Takeo feels goosebumps creeping up his spine and dispersing through his whole body at the sight of it. «Sorry to have alarmed all of you. The SOS was sent by mistake, I was already here to take care of the... _little inconvenience._ »

Michael sighs and disassembles his gun, proceeding with a throughout cleaning; Tao, chin prompted on his hands, looks at the man with admiration. «What happened, though?» a younger assassin – Regal? Regent? - asks, before starting a fit with Michael about the ashtray.

«It's a funny story. You see, when I got here I found some guys inside and I thought "that's strange, I didn't know we had a meeting" and so I approached the group. Four people, clean suits, one of them had gloves.» The man stops to fold the towel and places it under the sink, straightening the fabric with a hand.

«One of those men – I think he was from Union Mafia, yes? Well, this guy sees me and smirks. _Smirks._ Thirty seconds in and I was already pissed. And then waves at me to invite me over.»

They're joined by the second man, his attention caught by the narration.

«He says he's pleased to finally meet me in person. Says I'm different from what he expected – more beautiful perhaps?» everyone snickers, «and that he was glad he found a way to talk to me. The guys around agree. I just stand there and wonder why the fuck they're so interested in me.» The black haired man next to him rolls his eyes, «then, and here's when it gets funny, he says "I told your henchman to call you, didn't think you would arrive so soon" and at this point I am sincerely confused. Because, you know, I don't have a henchman.» He chuckles. Takeo already knows how the story goes on.

«"A pleasure to meet the head of Noblesse family".» Following the quote, only deafening and surprised silence. The blond man turns his face toward the other one, lips quirked in a sickening smitten smile that makes everyone faintly horrified. Michael is the one who, choking on his cigarette, asks with wide eyes:«they thought that you...?»

«Apparently so. Believe me, I was surprised as well.» _Lie,_ Takeo thinks, _it happens every single time._

«So you can imagine me standing there wondering in what way I can correct them, when I notice just _who_ is the henchman they talked about.» Everyone – Takeo included – follow his line of sight. Someone gulps. Someone else mutters "oh my God".

The smile on Stein's face widens. «Honestly, what was I supposed to do after witnessing such a shameful display?»

Silence follows the statement as everyone's reminded _why_ it is a bad idea to piss Victor "Frankenstein" Stein off. You simply don't, unless you're searching for a quick way to reach the afterlife.

«I did tell you not to go overboard with it, though.» The Boss interrupts Stein's rants about _what_ he did to them ("Cleaners are going to complain again, there's a lot of work to do in there" or "I don't know what to do with all those fingers left" or "eyeballs are so funny to remove!" and so on), eyes gently settled on a troubled expression. Stein's smile becomes apologetic, but everyone knows he doesn't feel sorry at all.

«I only did it because they dared to disrespect you, darling. Won't you forgive me?» He purrs, unashamed by the PDAs. The Boss only looks more troubled now, and Takeo wonders how hard dealing with someone as difficult as Stein on a daily basis can be.

«I don't like needless suffering, Victor.» He reprimands with a motherly tone that would be almost touching if he wasn't referring to a brutal (and probably multiple) homicide.

«He didn't suffer,» Stein explains matter-of-factly before correcting himself, «well, only half of him.»

«Tao,» the Boss sends a weak, long glance to the hidden room, «please contact the–»

A loud, horrified gasp covers the end of the sentence catching everyone's attention (someone even draws out a gun for safety measures). It's Stein, who's looking at his blazer as if it was some Eldritch monstrosity and whimpers like a kicked puppy. When he turns, Takeo can almost see tears pooling on his lashes. So, so dramatic.

«There's blood all over my suit.»

 _Unsurprisingly_ , Takeo would add. One should expect some stains after torturing someone to death, after all.

«It was a _Valentino!_ » Stein cries, brushing his fingers against the crest of the blazer, the buttons, the chest pocket. The Boss walks over to him, looking sympathetic, and pats his back soothingly.

«I'll buy you a new one.» He says, receiving a sniffle as a response. But then he yelps again, and this time the Boss just sighs, defeated and exasperated.

«My shoes!» Stein screeches, launching himself on the Boss in a way that would make envious Broadway actors, «my precious, beautiful _Louboutins!_ »

Takeo meets the Boss's eyes: gentle, expressive, _tired –_ but always full of fondness. _He's not fit to be a mob boss,_ Takeo often thinks: he's too soft, too human, and treats his people as actual family. _Maybe that's why we're all so loyal to him_.

Phone in hand, he proceeds to order a new pair of shoes.

* * *

pwmo back from the dead with a new chapter, finally with the mafia au suggested by mayumi-ako on tumblr. Yay!

If there's a thing I love is Frankenstein being difficult and dramatic so here it is, in all his glorious and _extra_ self. My boy, I love you so so much.

Btw, chapter 448 ended me. I have the screen of Rai's pained face in the last panel plastered everywhere, reminding me how I just love angst and suffering.

Sorry there's little "mafia" in this mafia au but I couldn't put in the part where Stein tortures those men since it's against the policy of this site, and this had to do.

About the characters: I decided to call M-21 "Michael" because it's a M name that I sincerely like. It's not canon, so you can imagine him being called in whatever way you want. The one with the incomprehensible name is Regis, but he could also be Rael because why not? Pick your favorite one, I'll leave it up to you.

No quote at the beginning, I didn't find anything that could go with this.

Many many thanks to O.O who always reviews and makes me really happy, and another one to zealith who checked out the last chapter! Thanks, guys, I hope you'll keep following this thing.

I honestly have NO idea about next chapter so please, if you have any suggestions, send them. If I find something good enough you'll have your update next Saturday. HELP.

Thanks for the patience, I hope you enjoy the chapter!

pwmo


	6. like one of your French girls

_"Forgive me for startling you with the impetuosity of my sentiments, my dear Scarlett—I mean, my dear Mrs. Kennedy. It cannot have escaped your notice that for some time past the friendship I have had in my heart for you has ripened into a deeper feeling, a feeling more beautiful, more pure, more sacred. Dare I name_ it you _? Ah! It is love which makes me so bold!"_

 _-Gone With The Wind_

* * *

Two weeks ago, he spent a whole day posting ads on every single wall, pole, and tree around the University and his apartment. Now, two weeks and no calls later, he asks himself if this is the Universe telling him to stop wasting money on Art and go back to Biology at once.

Not a call.

(Not even by mistake.)

(Not even prank calls.)

(He spent an entire day smacking his head against the table, frustrated.)

Hanging from the walls, all his favorite and unfinished pieces made so far – joy and pride of his hurt self-esteem. There's one he painted on the river side, fighting against the wind, dust, and screaming children. Another one, dominated by warm colors, depicts the interior of a café where the light rust-red wood comes to life whenever it's hit by sunlight. There's a portrait of his beloved cousin smiling blissfully to the tiny chick he holds in his hand – his first portrait, by the way – and then more landscapes.

Portraits are his goal. Victor _loves_ portraits, sketching faces on his journal whenever he's outside, trying to grasp the different forms and curves of all the people he meets. Diversity is appealing, and he strives to see the whole spectrum of human physical differences.

What he needs right now is a model, hence the desperate research and the frustration, because although he's quite good with faces and half-busts, his grasp on full human anatomy still sucks.

Having pictures in mind and being unable to put it on paper is frustrating, and he _loathes_ being frustrated.

(He hates even more crappy proportions, foreshortening, leg-noodles, and feet.)

Art Department provides a lot of things - addiction to caffeine is one, terrible fashion sense is another but is thankfully less spread – but, inexplicably, not models. You're either already skilled or you keep on sucking. Asking his colleagues is out of the question: art students live following Darwinian evolutionism meaning that, in a hypothetical situation in which you're on fire, a part of them would pour solvents on you and the other part would hide water. Only the strongest survive.

The watch strikes 8 am. With a huff and rustling of paper, Victor leaves the comfort of his apartment and sets off for the jungle.

xOx

 **You have (3) new messages**

 **From:** Tao IT Department

 _[9:30am] Ur bestest friend up 4 the rescue! Ive seen ur ads around, I found u someone;);)_

 _[9:30am] Told him to meet u 5pm in the studio_

 _[9:30am] Hes hot, u must gO!_

 **To:** Tao IT Department

 _[10:17am] The word "bestest" doesn't exist. Please write properly and watch your grammar, you're twenty and currently not on WoW. That said, thank you for finding me a model, you're a lifesaver. Tell me more._

 **You have (5) new messages**

 **From:** Tao IT Department

 _[10:18am] Geez ur no fun Vic._

 _[10:18am]U owe me, ur in debt, but im happy to save ur life whenev._

 _[10:18am] M, 20, hot, totally ur type!;);)_

( _Do I even have a type?_ Victor wonders to himself.)

 _[10:18am] He's from Fashion Dep. Most popular boy btw, he's really reALLY hot;);)_

 _[10:18am] Meet w/ him, then gimme deets or im never talkin 2 u again._

 **To:** Tao IT Department

 _[11:32am] I don't really care if he's hot. If he's not a good model, I'm sending him back to you with a kick. Know that now I have high expectations._

 _[11:32am] If he's good, however, I'm offering you coffee for a whole week._

 _Gotta go now._

 **You have (2) new messages**

 **From:** Tao IT Department

 _[11:33am] YASS free coffee 24/7 4 a week, ILYSFM *heart emojis*_

 _[11:34am] C u soon, hear the deets sooner;);)_

xOx

It's 4:30 pm and lessons just ended. Victor walks his way to the studio, frowning every time he remembers Tao's messages. It's not prejudice: his friend Tao, brilliant IT student, is renowned for exceptionally bad ideas.

(Like the one time he got smashed with vodka before lessons because " _a friend of a friend said"_ it helped to focus.)

(It didn't.)

(He didn't get suspended because his grades are good.)

(And let's not talk about the laundry accident.)

The tone of the message was preoccupying as well. The grammar, worse. _Atomic war_ level of worse. Everything about it makes him more and more uneasy.

(He goes anyway.)

The model isn't there yet, so Victor takes his time tidying the workspace and setting out his supplies: pencils for the rough sketch, watercolors and acrylics if he feels inspired enough, carbons if it gets dull. There's some kind of pleasure coming from having his things in perfect order, Victor knows it and revels in the feeling, aligning the papers and canvas on a nearby desk when–

«Victor Stein?»

–everything hits the ground with an orchestra of _thuds, clinks,_ and _rustle._

Victor can't talk, can't event think beside _holy shit he's gorgeous how do I breathe_ , tongue-tied at the back of his throat, mouth dry and lips glued together, only able to emit dying whale noises. If Victor didn't have a type before, now he certainly has.

 _Gorgeous_ doesn't even describe the otherworldly being peeking at him from behind the door. He looks like coming straight out from a fairytale. A dark, mysterious Prince Charming with long jet black hair, gentle face, and rusty brown eyes that almost look red in the orange tinges of the evening.

«Y-Yes, that's me,» he stutters, brain and mouth still disconnected, «are you the model Tao told me about?»

The man nods, holding out his elegant hand.

«Raizel from Fashion Department. I hope to be of help.» _You certainly will,_ Victor thinks, remembering what he said to Tao about "not caring if the model is hot". He does. He absolutely, definitely does.

«Victor Stein, dime-a-dozen broke art student. Thank you for showing up.» They exchange a handshake, and Victor dies a little on the inside because Raizel's hand is smooth, warm and _real_ in his grasp.

Before getting down to business, Raizel says he has some questions about modeling for him. Victor listens carefully, explaining why he needs a real life model and what the work consists of.

«Will you give me directions?»

«Just ideas. I'll tell you what I have in mind, and you adjust yourself in the way you deem more fitting.»

Raizel gives a tiny smile. «That's how it works in my department, too. How long do I need to stay today?»

The smile sends Victor out of track: «uh, half an hour is fine. I just have to, uh, draw a rough sketch so I get used to your, umm, _features._ »

Raizel nods again. At this point, Victor has realized he's not much of a talker, but it works just fine, he's already distracted enough without having to hold a conversation.

«When you're ready,» Victor ties his hair in a ponytail and hurries behind the canvas, «go stand where you prefer; then, we begin.»

The first scenario is "royalty".

Raizel chooses a sitting position, long legs elegantly crossed like he's sitting on a throne, head slightly turned to face the window. The light from outside creates interesting shadows over his face, sculpting the perfect features in a haughty, yet magnetizing expression. _Very_ noble indeed; so much, Victor can't help but feel sucked in by the magical sight. The pencil in his hand trembles against the virgin canvas, whispering threats of a dark stain, only to hover in its proximity, uncertain. He's paralyzed, unable to even _dream of_ reproducing what he sees, because no picture in the world (or photograph, or sculpture, or painting) would make Raziel's beauty justice.

Change of scenario. «Greek Gods,» Victor chants mesmerized, as Raizel drapes some fabric over his body, mimicking a chiton.

Victor keeps his eyes glued to the model, tracing the curves of his jaw, the sharp lines of the cheeks, the lips, the noble nose, the way his hair fall on his shoulder like a curtain of night on white marble.

There must be magic behind this level of perfection.

Victor doesn't draw a thing, but when Raizel gifts him of brief glances, Victor feigns concentration and looks away.

«You're a wonderful model, Raizel.» He musters up the courage to compliment him when Raizel isn't looking, awestruck by the pose he's making now – longing, dramatic, heartbroken.

It's not the sunset the cause of Raizel's cheeks being pink and faint scarlet.

«You would be, too.»

And just like this, thirty minutes pass. Raizel is putting on his form-fitting coat and Victor swallows dryly, Adam's apple bobbing up and down with a sharp movement.

«Please take it,» Victor snaps back to reality only to find Raizel holding a piece of paper. _It can't be._

But it is: Raizel's name is scribbled with a precise handwriting, and then there's a series of numbers.

Raizel must have caught on his absolute confusion because he looks away, rosy cheeks blooming with color and saying: «I just guess you'll need to contact me again.»

 _I do,_ Victor thinks. _I have the absolute need to contact you again. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe even the day after._

«I enjoyed posing for you. Call me anytime.» And with a last, tiny, beautiful smile, Popular Model Raizel from Fashion Department disappears around the corner.

xOx

 **You have (12) new messages**

 **From:** Tao IT Department

 _[10:30pm] VIC WHAT DID U DO TO RAI_

 _[10:30pm] HE'S SO FLUSTERED HOLY FUCK_

 _[10:31pm] nvm he's spilling out_

 _[11:01pm] Vic his blush is so pretty wtf I can't even, I need 2 protect him 4ever_

 _[11:07pm] Ur so buying me coffee 24/7 next week;);)_

 _[11:10pm] WHATS w/ the blank canvas thing btw? Rai says he worried cuz ur not getting any good grade w/ a white canvas wtf man?_

 _[11:11pm] Y u didnt draw a thing? Is it cuz he's too hot? Where u charmed? So captivated u couldn't tear ur eyes away?_

 _[11:11pm]MAN_

 _[11:11pm] U_

 _[11:11pm] THIRSTY ;);););_

 _[11:35pm] Never letting u live it down , this is my fav story ever, I'll tell it to ur children!_

 _[12:01pm] Btw if u and Rai get married I must b ur best man. It's my dream, and u owe me 1!;);)_

* * *

OH GOD this is long.

pwmo here for y'all guys, gushing over the WONDERFUL reception last chapter had. I can't believe it, I'm so moved *cries forever*

SO I'M STARTING WITH:

A huge, enormous "thank you" written with neon light to Laryna6, who suggested me a huge bunch of wonderful AUs I'm trying to develop. I owe you my life forever.

A bear hug to EurasianLynx, Kara-Alyssa, and zealith o following/faving this collection! Receiving the notification made my day, I'm grateful for your support! *throws hearts*

To ColdApril, who reviewed with high enthusiasm chapter 5 (Drama Franken is my aesthetic, and he _knows_ Rai can't get mad at him when he calls him "darling". Smart boy.) and to O.O, affectionate reader leaving reviews to every chapter: if I could, I'd send you heart sweets and cookies because I'm grateful for your kindness. Thanks for the nice words you always leave to me, they keep me motivated.

To qdeanna, who drew a WONDERFUL piece of art that made me tear up because it's beautiful and I love it ;-;

And to all the readers that stumble on my work, the quiet ones who read (and I hope _enjoy_ ) what I write: thank you for your attention, I'm glad you gave me a chance and I hope you hadn't been disappointed.

Now, on to the chapter. I had this scene in mind since forever (Franken messing up his work because model Raizel is too beautiful) and Laryna6 suggested me a photographer AU. Due to my lack of skill, however, the scene and the AU clashed too many times during the planning, so I changed it. I still have the photographer AU written down, so I will probably use it someday.

Unfortunately, allows me to put only one exclamation/question mark, but now that Tao's messages have probably three to five of them (at least)

On Tao: please go to sleep and stop with abbreviations. Please. Do it for your ol' friend Victor.

The title comes from the quote "Draw me like one of your French girls", from Titanic. I'd say that "at least draw something" would be more correct (hear that, Frankenstein?)

This is it. As always, feel free to send suggestions for AUs and pairings and point out mistakes, it helps a lot for self-confidence and during blocks. Also, your ideas might be better than mine.

'Til next week!

pwmo


	7. I'll put a spell on you

"You shall be my roots and / I will be your shade, / though the sun burns my leaves. / You shall quench my thirst and / I will feed you fruit, / though timme takes my seed. / And when I'm lost and can tell nothing of this earth / you will give me hope. / And my voice you will always hear. / And my hand you will always have. / For I will shelter you. / And I will comfort you. / And when we are nothing left, / not even in death, / I will remember you. /

\- Mark Z. Danielewski, " _You Shall Be My Roots_ "

* * *

Infamous and reverenced Daemon Frankenstein is bored.

In his study, surrounded by ancient grimoires, countless flasks of dubious substances coming in a remarkable array of colors, diagrams and Summoning Circles written on weathered scrolls, and _Encyclopaedias,_ said Daemon is inelegantly seated on his lustrous armchair, feet prompted on a pile of books and head thrown back, eyes closed and arm resting on his face. With his servants nowhere to be seen, his apprentices journeying around the world, and no contractors whatsoever, there's little he can do to entertain himself – brewing potions and perfecting spells are out of question, they're tiring and most certainly not coming out from the Fun Department.

" _Nothing in the whole world,_ " he thinks, sulking, " _will take this burden from my soul_ ".

He's about to be proven so, _so_ a disheveled man wearing a servant's robe and his black-rimmed purple cloak. The one symbolizing his high status as a Class Five Daemon. That cloak.

By a disheveled man wearing a servant's robe and his black-rimmed purple cloak.

(The one symbolizing his high status as a Class Five cloak.)

(That cloak.)

«Who are you?» he asks with a squeal, eyes running over the stranger's body again and again and again. He doesn't seem dangerous - and he couldn't be even if he tried because Frankenstein is still a Class Five Daemon – but Frankenstein keeps some distance, wary. The stranger looks up, distressed, and his ruby eyes waver under Frankenstein's powerful glaze.

When his servants follow a handful of Royal Guards inside the palace, the least thing they expect to see is their Master together with the man whose face is plastered on a thousand "Wanted" posters.

The Lord Commander speaks up. «Milord, you know who's the man walking with you?»

Frankenstein scoffs, glittering black sparkles forming through his fingers.

«Who, him?» he questions, glancing at the man next to him for a brief moment. When he turns to face the Lord Commander, there's the hint of a grin the guard doesn't catch. «He's my attendant.»

* * *

«Do I want to know why you broke into my palace followed by the Royal Guards?»

«You would, Milord.» The stranger sits uncomfortably on a plain chair, eyes cast down. Frankenstein takes his time observing him.

«But you're not going to tell me, are you?» The stranger only shakes his head. «I'm Frankenstein.» He stands, holding out his hand for the stranger to hold. The stranger grabs it with grace.

«Raizel.»

* * *

«You're strange, Raizel.» He says absentmindedly, swirling the wine in the glass before taking a sip. «I can't really figure you out.»

Raizel's hands stop tracing circles and he looks up. «How come?»

«You've been living here, helping me out with potions and spells, providing me materials, and not once you asked something in return.» Frankenstein's slit pupils are glued on Raizel, who blinks and tears his eyes away. «I am a Daemon, Raizel, and a powerful one. I can easily grant any wish of yours.»

Raizel smiles, and it's warm as springtime. «I wished for a place to live in peace. You already gave me what I wanted.»

When Raizel returns to his task, sometimes humming to himself pleasant popular songs, Frankenstein can't look away. This man, who gets lost in the palace at least five times per day, who so quietly marvels at every simple spell Frankenstein chants, who's gracious smiles and bright eyes, is the same man the Royal Guards deemed as "dangerous" and "vicious".

There must be something wrong with them.

* * *

Raizel blinks, eyes adjusting to the dim light emitted by the candles. At the sight, Frankenstein heaves a long, relieved sigh, and his hand curls around Raizel's pale one. He's alive.

«Milord?» he rasps, eyeing the Daemon with worry. «What happened?»

Frankenstein explains how he felt a cold wave passing through his body, how he summoned himself outside the palace only to find Raizel laying in a pool of his own blood – he omitted the part in which he slashed alive five Royal Guards, figuring it would only deepen Raizel's frown – and chanted a spell to save him. Raizel's frown deepened anyway.

«You used your powers at such a long distance from the palace?» He questions before erupting in a fit of coughs. Frankenstein pats his back soothingly and chants some other words, ignoring the lingering feeling of drowsiness and the burning pain at his core. «You could have died.» He adds.

«I'm alright.»

But Raizel seems unconvinced as he stares to the Daemon's face, thumb rubbing circles on the hand gripping his. «Liar,» he breathes out, «there's no way you would be-»

«Raizel.» Frankenstein lets the syllables roll on his tongue, and the name is powerful once pronounced. «I'm fine. Rest, now.»

And Raizel's eyes close, coaxed by the sprinkles of magic Frankenstein added to his words.

* * *

He's ripped out of sleep by the smell of herbs and the absence of a warm body next to him. Something moves near his head and his hand reflexively snatches it, halting its movement. When Frankenstein opens his eyes, Raizel looks surprised and his wrist is tightly gripped in his hand.

He relaxes immediately and sits, sheets pooling at his hips and waist. Raizel hides his hand behind his back and Frankenstein lets him, because he already knows. He would recognize _that_ smell everywhere.

«Did you seduce me into sleeping with you so you could cast a spell on me, dear?» he jokes, winning a cute blush from the human, and then strokes his arm, eyes full of devotion. «Did you really think I wouldn't notice?»

«I just...» the human sighs and opens his hand, revealing a small sachet embroidered with golden and black threads. Although expecting it, Frankenstein can't help but feel giddy, soul warming from the affectionate (but hazardous) gesture. «I heard it would help you,» he finally adds with a whisper.

«So you wanted to form a contract to help me?»

Raizel, silly, wonderful human, gives a small nod.

«Are you aware of the consequences of _this_ type of contract?»

«I do.» There's resolution in those blood-red eyes of him, a strength Frankenstein isn't used to see. «If I can ease your burden, I'm willing to do anything.»

Frankenstein chants the spell, and his appearance shifts into his Daemonic form, black horns thick on his forehead and dark scales plastered covering the skin of his hands and forearms. The Contract Circle glows of purple light around them.

« _We have entered a contract of the soul. You are hereby bound to my lifeline, as I'm bound to yours. Do you consent?_ »

«I consent,» comes Raizel's voice. The sachet in his hands levitates.

«The contract requires a payment,» Frankenstein informs, stalling the spell to guide Raizel through the last passage of the contract making. The human nods understandingly, and Frankenstein's lips curl into a fond smile before leaning in, covering Raizel's soft lips. The circle around them glows brightly for what feels like an eternity as they kiss, and then it dissolves into thin air.

Their lips part with a sigh. «I hope you won't come to regret what you just did,» is what the Daemon says, stroking the human's face with a thumb. «A contract is irreversible.»

«I won't,» is what Raizel says, and Frankenstein can feel the burning affection directed to him filling him completely of Raizel and Raizel alone, leaving no empty space.

They share another kiss under the gentle morning light.

With time, Raizel will adjust to his new life as a half-Daemon. With time, Frankenstein will adjust to the feeling of two souls resonating into his core, empowering his magic and making him feel, for the first time, _human._

* * *

Role-reversal magial AU aka cluster of AUs put together because they sounded nice. Yup.

I realize none of this makes really sense because I didn't explain shit, but I honestly don't have a background story for some details (like why the RG want Rai). Ignore those little details. They do not exist.

I had to look up to the Contract Chapter (Top 5 best OTP moments) because I could not, for the life of me, remember what words Raizel uses when they _get married_ \- form the contract, sorry, I slipped.

So, little facts about this AU. The Daemonic hierarchy has five levels (classes), starting with Class One (weakest Daemons) and ending with Class Five (strongest Daemons - Noblesse Rai and the Lord would classify as Class Five Daemons, just to give you an idea of _how_ strong Franken is in this AU.)

Daemons are magical beings, thus they can work with potions or simple spells just like wizards; they don't have to pay a price to use magic, but they always have limitations because otherwise Daemons would go around and conquer the world without sparing a glance to other beings. So yeah, no prices, but limitations. Franken's limitation is the distance from his palace: the farther he is from the palace, the strongest the recoil hits. Obviously, it's even harder when the spell chanted is a high-level one (that implies the spell he used to save Raizel - it's high-level magic and he cast it far, far away from the palace) and the quantity of magical power used.

Contracts exist in different shapes. The simplest contract requires an exchange: you pay a price, the Daemon does its thing, and it ends after the request is fulfilled. Raizel and Frankenstein's contract is another thing: it's irreversible, meaning you can't back out from it after you form it; it lasts until one of the parties die, and it's not exchange but _sharing_. Like marriage, but with soul-sharing.

The quote at the start is from one of my favourite books ever, "House of Leaves" by Mark Z. Danielewski.

That ends the brief explanation. If you have other questions, feel free to contact me here or on tumblr (link on bio).

Look up the wonderful art from Chapter 5 made by lovely qdeanna on tumblr, it's beautiful and I want to rub my face on it forever!

To user Hyracia: thank you for following this collection, I hope you liked it so far and that you'll keep on liking it.

To user O.O: thank you for the nice review, now Victor identifies himself as Raizelsexual and this is it, no one will ever convince me otherwise.

I hope you'll be satisfied with this chapter! I don't know if I'll manage to post another next Saturday because life is getting in the way, but I hope so. Thank you for the attention!

pwmo (and all my love)


	8. videotape me when I'm drunk

**WARNING:** mentions of alcohol.

"Well, I don't know, little lady: you're awfully pretty, but I'm a nice man, I live a nice life, I have a nice house, I have a great wife and I'm tired of making decisions without thinking […] Hey, there, how are you doing? Would you like to sit next to me?

(Next To Me, Lana Del Rey)

* * *

«Do we really need to watch it?» Victor cringes, a cup of black, bitter coffee in one hand and head hanging into the other. The hangover must be bad, but Tao expected it: Victor _did_ drink yesterday night (even though his husband pleaded him not too) and got smashed. Next to Victor, his husband sits unimpressed. Tao knows best. Tao knows it's the "I love you and seeing you in pain makes me feel bad but I told you not to drink and you didn't listen so you kind of deserve it" look.

«We don't, but I think _you_ should.» He suggests, wiggling his eyebrows and putting the CD on. Raizel's glare burns on his back, and Tao can't really say he's wrong.

He presses play.

 **14th May, 20XX, 18:37**

 _(_ Light disturbance at the start of the tape _)_

 _«Is it on?» (_ Tao's face appears in the shot, followed by indefinite sounds, presumed to be attempts to fix the recording. _)_

 _«There, perfect.» (_ Tao grins. Takeo's voice can be heard on background singing "Uptown Funk") _«Man, this will be fun.»_

(The video is cut a second after Michael's voice is heard saying " _the hell are you doing?_ ", followed by incoherent noises.)

 **20:12**

(City noises on background; footage starts in a car in motion.)

(Camera on Takeo.) _«Hey Take, say something to the camera, it's for Vic and Rai's anniversary!»_

 _«Uh, hello guys. Congratulations for the three years together.»_

(The image trembles. When it stabilizes, the camera is turned on Michael.)

 _«You too, you too!»_

 _«This is bullshit, Tao. I'll congratulate when I see them.»_

 _«Come on!»_ (Loud whining. Tao's hands move around with the camera, resulting in incoherent footage) _«don't be so salty, Mike. Just say hi!»_

(Indistinct talking between Tao and Michael. The banter is recorded in its entirety, but the audio is compromised.)

Pause.

«I can't hear shit,» Victor mumbles from his husband's lap, «what's up with the audio?»

Tao raises his hands in defense, poked in his pride as video maker. «Not my fault the camera rolled down the seat and the mic was pressed onto my jacket,» he glares at Michael, who just shrugs his shoulder.

Play.

 **20:38**

(Two persons walk toward the camera. The scarce lighting makes it hard to recognize the faces.)

(Whispered) _«Here they come!»_ (Louder. The camera moves up and down following Tao's movement) _«Hi, guys!»_

(The blond man – Victor – waves a hand at the camera. The man next to him – Raizel – stops to shake Michael's hand.)

 _«Wait, are you recording this?»_ (Victor points at the camera.)

 _«I am recording_ everything _.»_

«I have the feeling you _did_ record everything and that I should be scared,» Victor observes with a hint of guilt. The sly smile on Tao's face is enough as an answer.

 **21:56**

(People talking and common restaurant noises on background. The camera is steady, and all the people seen until now are in the shot – Tao standing with a glass in hand, Takeo and Michael sitting next to him on both sides, Victor and Raizel sitting next to each other on the other side of the table.)

(Raizel, embarrassed) _«What are you doing?»_

(Tao grins and raises his glass) _«I'm making a toast. For Raizel and Victor, two of my favourite people in the world since college years_ (laughter) _and the happiest, perfectly matched couple I know. Three years together are real stuff, and I know they've been blissful for you. I hope you'll keep feeling elated forever_ (Victor and Raizel look at each other, Victor squeezing Raizel's hand) _especially since I get to drink Dom Perignon for free_ (laughter). _Congratulations!»_

(Everyone at the table raises their glasses and says "cheers!")

Victor sends Tao a long, menacing look:«depending on whether I like the outcome of this or not, you're not seeing another drop of Champagne for the rest of your life and I mean it.»

 **22:02**

(A brief footage of a recording set in the restaurant. Tao, Takeo, and Michael chant _"kiss! Kiss! Kiss!_ " to Raizel and Victor, who both blush. Five seconds later, Victor slides an arm around Raizel's waist and pulls him close for a kiss. Takeo and Michael clap, while Tao wolf-whistles and screams incoherently.)

Raizel blushes. Victor nuzzles his face on his stomach. «You're so cute.»

 **23:39**

(Footage shows the interior of a club. The logo – a huge white bear with five stars on its fur – is of _Ursa Space Club_. Due to the loud music, parts of some conversations are confused or incomprehensible. The camera goes off after a glance to the bar.)

(Audio only) _«Please, don't let Victor drink too much.»_ (Raizel pleads. Voices of Takeo and Michael saying _"sure bud"_ can be heard over the roaring music.)

 _«Don't worry, I'm not letting him get drunk, just a bit tipsy!»_

«I don't trust you anymore,» Raizel says, hands rubbing Victor's scalp. Tao has a moment of intense guilt, but then remembers what comes after and no, he's not sorry at all.

(The camera once again shows the bar, with the five of them sitting on stools.)

 _«My good friends here_ (Tao points to Victor and Raizel) _are celebrating their third anniversary!»_

(The bartender sets five shots on the counter. Tao gives one each, and then raises his glass.)

 _«A shot for happiness!»_

(They drink.)

 **15th May, 20XX, 1:47**

(The camera shows the bar once again, with only Raizel sitting on a stool and sighing, Martini in hand.)

 _«Hey.»_

(Raizel glances to the speaker – Takeo.)

 _«Not feeling well?»_

 _«I'm fine, just worried. Victor disappeared through the crowd.»_ (Raizel heaves a long sigh and drinks his Martini. Takeo orders two daiquiris.)

 _«He's with Tao, I would be worried, too. Are you having fun?»_

 _«Yes_ (he smiles) _. It's been a while since we last spent time all together. A bit overwhelming on my part, but nice.»_ (Raizel accepts the daiquiri.)

 _«Are you happy?»_

(Raizel looks toward the crowd of people dancing with a gentle expression.) _«Yes.»_

Victor loses it. Ignoring the roaring hangover-induced headache, he cradles Raizel's face with both hands and peppers him with loud, wet smooches everywhere. Michael makes a disgruntled noise, muttering something similar to "you're disgusting", but Tao can't tell because he's laughing too hard. Raizel's face – surprised, elated and terribly embarrassed at the same time – it's the funniest thing he's seen in his life.

 **2:01**

(Raizel is offered a Cherry Flash Cola, which he drinks smoothly. Footage shows then Victor french-kissing him messily against the counter, a hand on his husband's waist and the other in his hair. When they break the kiss, Victor licks his lips and says _"juicy"._ Tao is heard repeating _" oh my God that was amazing"_ several times.)

 **2:26-4:04**

(Various scenarios including Tao making out with Takeo to avoid a creep and Michael muttering "gross", Victor declaring his wish to _get smashed,_ Tao and Victor singing along the songs selected by the DJ, Takeo chugging three shots of vodka and then falling to the ground, Michael's monologue on how stupid his friends are and a direct message to Raizel saying "I'm sorry you married Victor because now you can't get rid of Tao, please don't forgive him for fucking up your anniversary party", and a lot of dancing.)

 **4:05**

(Incoherent sequence of images, then the camera settles on Tao and Victor, who has a Caipirinha in one hand and an Aunt Roberta in the other.)

 _«How much did you drink already? Your husband's worried!»_ (Takeo worriedly asks Victor.)

 _«This one's the… uh… ten-five n' something… But I'm fine!»_

«With the two drinks in your hand, it was "nineteen".»

«Oh _God,_ Tao,» Victor squeals, and Raizel is very, very displeased, « _shut up._ »

«Oops, guess I'm not making it better.»

 **4:31**

(Footage shows the club at closing hour. Michael is helping Victor on his feet, shushing his laughter and sighing. Raizel stands in front of them, Victor's and his things in hands. Seconds later, Victor yelps and grabs Michael's sleeve with determination.)

 _«Oh my God, Michael!»_

 _«What?»_ (Camera follows Victor's gaze on Raizel)

 _«He's hot!»_

(Michael looks distressed. Raizel blinks a few times, confused.) _«Dude, that's your husband.»_

 _«Don't joke! (_ Victor smacks Michael on the forearm) _Gosh, look at his ass *hiccup*, it's glorious!»_

(Tao laughs soundly. The camera shakes and the shot blurs.)

 _«Oh my God!»_ (Tao chokes) _«this is amazing!»_

 _«No, Vic, that's really your husband.»_

 _«Eh. I wish.»_ (Tao laughs harder. On footage, Victor leans on Michael and dreamily stares at Raizel, who's staring back in confusion.) _«Being this beautiful should be illegal.»_

 _«Why don't you talk to him?»_ (Tao suggests before another burst of laughter.)

 _«His eyes are so pretty…»_

(Raizel steps forward, confused.) « _Victor, are you okay?»_

 _«He knows my name, Michael!»_

 _«I would be more surprised if he didn't.»_ (Michael glares in Tao's direction. Victor shrieks, then staggers forward, stumbles on his feet and lands in Raizel's arms.)

«This is the funniest part.» Tao laughs, wiping tears from his eyes. It's the third time he's seen it (after he filmed it), but it only gets funnier.

Victor is frozen and then, carefully and spelling every word with dread, he whispers:«death, take me now.»

 _«Hi, pretty.»_ (Victor is in Raizel's arms and Raizel looks worried and confused. Takeo sighs.)

 _«You're drunk, Vic.»_

 _«Very much so.»_ (Michael is heard saying _"I haven't seen him this drunk since_ Alpha Tau Omega's _closing party. Good luck."_ )

 _«Let's go home.»_

 _«You go so fast, handsome stranger_ (purrs). _»_

(Raizel looks at Tao. Then at his husband. Tao, again.) _«Come on Vic, it's late and your hangover is going to be terrible.»_

 _«Only if you give me your number.»_

(Footage is cut after some incoherent noises – Tao's laughter.)

The video ends. Victor looks at the screen, horrified.

«I forgot we're married.» He doesn't seem to believe himself as he says that, slowly.

«Apparently.»

«I forgot we're married and _then_ drunk-flirted with you.» His voice sounds worse each time he talks. Raizel just nods.

«It was heartwarming!» Tao chimes, DVD in hand and twenty-thousands-watt smile.

«I hope you enjoyed the Dom Perignon, Tao,» Victor turns to face him and suddenly Tao is _very_ scared, «because I'll be dead before I offer it to you again.»

Raizel offers him painkillers and a glass of fresh water, for which Victor is more than grateful. After the laughs, the embarrassment and the angry growls (all directed to Tao, the bastard) his throat is sore and his bead pulses painfully.

«You'll feel better in no time,» Raizel says, cutting some chicken for dinner. «And drink coffee, it helps.»

Victor purrs, hands flying to Raizel's sides and face pressed against the small of his back. He inhales the smell of his lover – a soothing mixture of fabric softener and cologne – and presses a kiss on the fabric of his shirt. «You're so smart and wise, love.»

His lover's hands stop. «You're still sleeping on the couch tonight.»

Well, he deserves it after all.

* * *

IT'S. DONE. Guys, you have no idea how much it took me to write this stuff.

Hello again everyone, pwmo back from the dead! Sorry for the delayed update, I was too busy being self-deprecating and, y'know, being anxious and stuff. I had some bad weeks lately and didn't really feel like posting something, but now I'm kind of doing fine so here it is, the thing.

As you can see, it doesn't look like a normal fanfiction. I thought it would be funny to write the story like this (it was, but I'm never doing it again), like "The Hangover" but less extra and videotaped.

Characters here are, of course, our lovely Rai, Frankenstein/Victor (One or two times I wrote Yuuri instead of Rai, then remembered it's not YOI sand then I was like wtf u doing pwmo, stop), Takeo, Tao, and M-21/Michael.

Past conversations (the one on tape) are written in italics. Present conversations are written normally. It's not very confusing, but if you have a hard time figuring when a conversation happened, contact me and I'll give you all the information you require.

So, a few notes on names and stuff. Dom Perignon is a really expensive brand of champagne (a bottle can cost up to 300€, can you believe it?); Ursa Space Club is a totally made-up place, but I can't be sure it doesn't exist. A Martini is one of the most alcoholic drinks you can order and it consists of vermouth dry and gin; a Cherry Flash Cola is a cocktail made with marasquino liqueur, cherry brandy, and cola; Caipirinha is another cocktail made with lime and cachaca (Brazilian sugar cane brandy) and a lot of ice. Like, _a lot._ An Aunt Roberta is an alcoholic bomb consisting of a mix of absinthe herbal liqueur, brandy, vodka, gin and blackberry liqueur. Good choice, my boy.

As always, I'd like to give my thanks to all the people following/faving/reviewing this fanfiction. I can't find the words to explain how much it means to me, but it does. Believe me. Thanks for your patience and your kindness.

I think I said enough, the chapter is already long as it is and I don't want to annoy you with useless notes.

Follow me on tumblr for more updates! (Link on bio, otherwise search for pizza-with-me-okay, that's me.)

See you next chapter! (SEND SUGGESTIONS PLS)

pwmo the Great


	9. a year (Italians do it better)

"Love doesn't discriminate between the sinners and the saints, it takes and it takes and it takes and we keep loving anyway, we laugh and we cry, and we break, and we make our mistakes, and if there's a reason I'm by her side when so many have tried, then I'm willing to wait for it."

\- Wait For It, Hamilton.

* * *

Talking practically, it hasn't been a pleasant day.

First thing, the coffee machine died during the night and there was no hot cup of black bitterness waiting for him when he woke up, and he was left being a non-functional human being for the longest amount of time he ever experienced.

Second thing, there was a _massive_ amount of cars on the way to work – which is strange, because he's careful not to choose main streets as he knows traffic is hellish at that time of the day – and so he arrived half an hour late. He _never_ arrives late.

Third - because yes, there's a third thing – his secretary decided to quit without sending a proper explanation, and he, as busy as a top-notch broker can be, absolutely has no time to arrange the meetings and clients and supplies by himself. By four o'clock he was frustrated, caffeine-deprived and itching to get home.

Many other things had gone wrong: the printer gave its last breath mid-printing an important contract, his favorite restaurant was closed for renovation, someone scratched his _precious_ car and now there was an ugly scrape on the driver's door and he wanted to cry.

He didn't.

So at 10:30 pm, when he was free to go back home where things were still in his control (aside from the coffee machine, but he could still buy a new one), he grabbed his things with two hands, rushed to the car, shrieked at the sight of the ugly scrape, and jumped on.

xOx

He has never had rituals in his life. During college, there was nothing such as lucky socks, or charms, or routines to do before an exam or a particularly difficult class. There was no lucky necktie for meetings with new important customers, and no sentimental attachment to his things, whatever they could be. On of his colleagues, Dave, hasn't changed his suitcase since he got the job because " _it's the suitcase I had when I came for the interview"_ , and another one, Dana, wears the same cologne every time she has meetings abroad. Victor doesn't. He simply doesn't believe in this kind of things.

And yet, he now has his own very special ritual for when he comes home.

Shoes are left by the door while he hangs the coat in the wardrobe, and he trudges barefoot to the living room, plopping down on the couch with ungraceful movements. The ritual goes on with a few more things but today it stops here because, honestly, he's _so tired._ With a last, herculean effort, he takes the phone out of the pocket of his pants and scrolls.

 _(2) missed calls from XXX-XXXXXXX_

Victor jolts up, fingers pressing erratically on the call button as he _hopes_ to be on time.

Here's another "gone wrong" thing: he forgot about the most important dinner appointment ever.

It's ringing. Oh, blessed the Heavens and the angels! It's ringing, and that means he still has room for apologies and—

«I'm sorry I couldn't take you out for dinner but my secretary quit and I had to arrange everything myself and my planner was a mess and I just got home please forgive me I didn't mean to—»

There's a soft huff on the other side of the phone, interrupting his stream of consciousness. _«Victor, breathe,»_ the voice calmly suggests, and Victor does. He takes a deep breath, cheeks sweating from the contact with the hot phone, and repeats.

«I will make it up to you, I swear. I'm sorry about tonight, everything has gone south and I got caught up. We could go tomorrow, I have a day off.»

 _«There's no need for that.»_

The call ends here, with Victor being hung-up on and dreading the meaning of those words. Sure, the voice sounds calm and relaxed, but that voice _always_ sounds calm and relaxed! There's nothing reassuring him that something bad won't happen, and so Victor panics. _It's over,_ he thinks. _It's over, it's over, it's over._

Someone rings the doorbell. Victor tries not to look like a wreck before leaving the couch and trudging to the door, but he doesn't know how successful the attempt was.

When he opens the door, he thinks he's dreaming. It _must_ be a dream, or an illusion caused by the recent delusion. It can't be real.

«The Italian restaurant you booked for tonight doesn't do take away, but Licia – you know, my neighbor from Rome – told me she could give me a hand and made some carbonara. I hope it's still okay with you.»

There's a moment in which Victor thinks he might start crying like a baby; then, he launches himself in the most desperate hug he ever gave.

xOx

They're comfortably sprawled on the bad, Raizel sitting with his back against the wall and with Victor's head on his lap, as they watch one of those bad disaster movies Victor likes so much.

«You thought I wanted to break up with you?» Raizel asks, both amused and worried, as he combs Victor's hair with a hand. Victor nods slowly, eyes following the main character of the movie running for his life in the middle of a frozen New York City. It's always New York City.

«I saw those missed calls, and then you said there was no need to have dinner together, so I thought you were upset because I was caught up at work,» he says, relaxing into the touch. Raizel stifles a laugh.

«The first time, I called to know if everything was okay because it was getting late, and you are never late,» he lifts one finger as he starts the explanation.

«The second call was to tell you I figured out you were caught up at work and that I didn't mind if we couldn't go, that I remember you usually get home around 10:30 pm and that I would come here,» two fingers up.

«When I said "there's no need for that" I meant choosing another day to have dinner together, because Licia wanted to repay me for the time I kept her dog when she was in Italy, and before I could stop her she was already boiling the spaghetti, so I was on my way with the carbonara,» the third finger is up, ending the explanation.

Well, everything makes sense now.

«I'm sorry you thought I wanted to break up with you,» Raizel apologizes, hand resting on the top of Victor's head.

Victor buries his face into Raizel's stomach, hugging his waist tight. «It's okay. Thank you for being so thoughtful and understanding.»

He feels Raizel's body relaxing and knows he must be blushing. «There's no need to thank me, Victor. It's what every normal person would do.»

The movie comes to and end, credits scrolling on the TV screen. Raizel moves, escaping Victor's tight hug to get on his feet. «It's late,» he says, « and you had a rough day. Why don't you go to sleep? I'll go wash the dishes.»

Victor shakes his head. «I will do it tomorrow. Can you read something for me?»

Raizel gifts him his soft, soft smile and nods, fingers tracing the spine of the books in the bedroom until he finds something he likes, and then returns by his side.

Victor scoots over a bit to leave Raizel some room, and when he's comfortable, Victor reaches out for physical contact.

«Happy first anniversary,» he mumbles against the fabric of Raizel's white shirt.

He hears Raizel opening the book, and closes his eyes. When he starts, Victor is back to the day he listened to him read _Titus Andronicus_ on that voice-based SNS, when Raizel was just user _Rai820_ , a man with a soothing voice and not his boyfriend, when Victor had no idea who was on the other side.

«...Africa. That bird came from Africa. But you mustn't cry for that bird, Paulie, because after a while it forgot about how the veldt smelled at noonday, and the sounds of the wildebeests at the waterhole, and the high acidic smell of the ieka-ieka trees in the great clearing north of the Big road...» Raizel reads.

 _Funny_ , Victor thinks. _It's exactly the passage I read a year ago._

* * *

Hello everyone! pwmo here, back with the fixed chapter!

If this piece reminds you of something, well, YOU'RE RIGHT! It's a little after-story of the first chapter, featuring Victor (Frankenstein dear) as the unlucky broker, Raizel (da babe) as the precious cinnamon roll AND ALSO user Rai820 from the voice-based SNS.

Man, I wanted to write the after story since I started the first chapter, but then other ideas came up and I just put this one away, promising myself "I will write it!" every time I finished a chapter. Of course, I never did. UNTIL NOW!

The title refers to the Italian restaurant and the pacifying carbonara, and the fact they both thought of Italian things while planning the anniversary. Nothing else. No flames. (But we DO the carbonara better, believe me, I tried eating it abroad and it physically harmed me seeing restaurants put _cream_ in it and call it "true italian carbonara". It's not. Don't believe them, they only tell lies.)

(Fun fact! Italians themselves fight with each other over the true recipe of the carbonara. No one knows how the _true carbonara_ is - but we all agree cream isn't part of it. The main fights are over what part of swine meat should be used, whole egg vs. yolk only, and onion vs. garlic.)

Those who follow me on tumblr know that I scheduled the update on Monday/Tuesday at best, but my PC fucked everything up and I had to re-write it from scratch. It was, and I am convinced of this, the most frustrating experience in my life.

But hey, here it is!

A big thank you to the lovely people sending me prompts, reading, following, and faving this fanfiction! Seeing you grow in number and receiving your kind messages makes me feel so appreciated, like, do I even deserve this? So yeah, thank you, you're the true success here!

As I already said, Facing The Unexplained is on a break (plot planning and development take a while, I am slow and I want to keep up the good work I did until now), so chapter 4 won't be out until the second week of July, I think.

Don't misunderstand: it's all written and ready, but I need to write at least the next chapter to be sure the plot is consistent til the end. Chapter 4 is fine, I just need it for later adjustments. I am up for posting a little preview on my tumblr, if you want, but it's up to you!

Follow me there to receive updates, to see Noblesse memes and frequent shitposting, to send me memes (any kind of meme is good meme, but if it's cat memes I will call you my friends forever) or requests or suggestions for prompts/pairings. Your help is appreciated, so don't be shy! I am an awfully awkward person myself, I will probably answer you with cat memes, but it's to show I appreciate you all.

As alway, see you next chapter!

P.S. Raizel is reading "Misery" by Stephen King.

P.P.S. I am in love with _Hamilton_ so much omg

pwmo


	10. make(up) my way to your heart

"It terrifies me and I don't know why: there you go, you paralyze me and I don't know why […] Everything is black and white and gray, walls are shaking when you're touching me, changes everything when you're close to me."

-Munich, The Fray

* * *

When he was younger and less wise, Ik-Han thought how nice it would be to live with his best friends forever. If he could turn back time right now, he would grab his younger self by the shoulders, stare dead into his eyes and say " _save yourself, you fool!"_.

Shinwoo has changed his shirt an unholy amount of times – even his model friend Suyi doesn't change her outfits that many times during her photo shoots.

«Do you think this color suits my skin color?» Shinwoo asks, wearing a—

«Get that hideous thing off you,» Ik-Han deadpans. As much as he wants to strangle Shinwoo with his bare hands, he'll be dead before he leaves his best friend go out with someone as pretty as Seira wearing a _hawaiian shirt_ with pineapples on it.

«I knew it!» Shinwoo cries out, unbuttoning the shirt, «it clashes with my hair! Maybe I should really dye them...»

Ik-Han rummages into the post-war bunker that is Shinwoo's wardrobe, searching for something that will make his friend look less of a disaster. «Believe me, it clashing with your hair is the least of that shirt's problems...»

He almost decides to give up, call Rai, and ask him to lend Shinwoo one of his plain white shirts - because Ik-Han has reached _that_ point of desperation - but the problem is, Raizel doesn't have the same size as Shinwoo and, adding to that, he's not at home – something about a date in a city two hours away from where they are. Lucky Raizel, getting none of Shinwoo's shit once again. His air-headed friend isn't helping, either: he's moping on the bed, shirtless, begging for a painless death.

Ik-Han ponders how to make his wish come true, and then his hand grabs a baby blue shirt with a V-neck, and everything returns bright and beautiful and—

«Shinwoo!» he throws the shirt against his friend, shrieking and kicking him off the bed, «you're late!»

xOx

Seira isn't there when he arrives, short-breathed and disheveled by the deadly run. It's good, because he's not one who makes someone wait – and also because he honestly looks so uncool right now, she would probably leave right away.

He sits down, already tired. He fought against his hair and lost, his shoes are uncomfortable and hard to walk in, he's _sweating a lot_ and it makes him self-conscious. Seira will probably look like a real angel dressed with clouds and holiness and he's here, looking like someone just punched him in the guts and with a nest where his hair are supposed to be.

A flash of white catches his attention, and then Seira is in front of him with a shy smile.

«An angel...» he whispers, and Seira doesn't seem to hear because she's still there, standing tall and beautiful. She's not dressed of clouds and holiness – a black shirt with the definition of "feminism" written on it, high-waisted gray jeans and a simple pair of sneakers, and everything looks like haute couture fashion on her.

«Your shirt is cool,» he blurts out, regretting the words 0.2 seconds later. He could have said it better, like "your shirt looks beautiful on you" or "you dress really nice" or "you have an amazing taste for fashion". So he coughs to take the awkwardness of his sentence away and tries something else. «What do you want to do?»

Seira looks around, shifting her weight from a foot to the other, pensive. «I have to buy Regis a birthday present,» she says, and Shinwoo nods.

«Do you have any idea about what he would like as a present?» Now, Shinwoo doesn't know a thing about Regis – and it's his first date with Seira, too – so he's not going to make suggestions. Maybe Regis doesn't like video games, and from the looks of it, he likes nice clothes which probably cost more than Shinwoo will ever make working as a barista. So he waits for Seira to speak her mind, hoping to be of help to this lovely creature in need.

«He said he liked Rai's earrings,» she must be talking about the pretty black cross-shaped earrings Rai wears when he handles the counter – something about girls going crazy over his looks and buying more, or that's what Boss says. «Do you know what shop sells them?» Seira asks, serious. Shinwoo knows, of course, but there's a _little_ problem.

«They're handmade,» he explains, «Rai got them as a gift.»

Seira nods. «And, please don't take it as an insult, but I don't think they'd suit Regis much,» he hazards, relaxing when Seira chuckles.

«I thought the same,» she agrees. Shinwoo breaths out, glad to not have screwed up _everything_ with his opinion.

«Anything else he'd like?»

Seira ponders for a while, and then her face brightens. «Can you take me to a cosmetic store?»

xOx

Now, Shinwoo isn't new to the whole "people are watching us because I'm standing next to someone beautiful" - he's Rai's friend, and only God and Ik-Han know how many times they found themselves surrounded by girls (and boys) fawning over his good looks – but this time might be _too much._

Seira is beautiful next to him, walking with her back straight like a model, eyes focused in front of her, _of course_ people would stare at such a beauty. Their hands are so close, it would take nothing for him to just entwine their finger together and walk holding hands, but he doesn't. He's not even sure if Seira thinks of this as a date, and Shinwoo isn't one to just pull something funny like that if he isn't absolutely sure the other person is comfortable.

(He waited two years before asking Raizel if he could hug him.)

(When he hugs him at work, he can feel the glares the Boss sends to him. It's kind of scary.)

The people around stand dazed by the charm Seira emanates with her only presence. A group of guys Shinwoo knows – he gave a lesson to two or three of them because they were harassing Ik-Han, and n _o one_ harasses his friends without paying for it – retreats, eyes glued to Seira's perfect figure as she stands right next to him, and Shinwoo looks at them as to say "watch me standing next to her, suckers. I know you wish you were me – I'd wish I was me" and revels in the feeling of being so lucky.

But after the second shop where people kept looking, and asking for photos, and trying to make Seira prove lipstick after eyeshadow after blush, Shinwoo only wants to scream his way out and continue their date on a far-away desolated island.

The girl doesn't seem to notice how much people are staring, too busy picking nail polishes of several different shades and trying them on a piece of adhesive she stuck to her hand, analyzing many aspects of them Shinwoo knows _nothing_ about.

He regrets not listening Suyi explain what's important in a good nail polish.

«I'm sorry to disrupt your concentration,» he carefully starts, pointing at the nail polishes, «but I was wondering what did you want to buy for Regis.»

Seira glances to the little bottles, and then to Shinwoo. She does it several times. Shinwoo understands after the fifth time. «I see,» he says, and returns to analyze the different brand of make-up brushes. There's one that is shaped like a unicorn horn – and it's also glittered.

«I'm grabbing a bag, it looks like you'll buy quite a lot.»

xOx

«So Regis likes nail polish?» Shinwoo holds her ice cream cone while she puts the money in her purse. He asked if he could pay for it, but Seira politely declined his offer saying it wouldn't be correct. They walk together toward Seira's apartment at Shinwoo's insistence – Seul is a safe place, but you never know – and he can't believe the date is about to end.

«We used to put it on each other's nails when we were children, and it remained a little ritual between us. Our families are really close, so we spent a lot of time together. We still do, as you see.»

Must be nice, Shinwoo thinks, to have such a close relationship with your relatives. He's envious, even – he doesn't remember being half as close with his cousins, he only ever had Ik-Han and Yuna and it was enough.

«I bet he'll like those. You choose such pretty shades, I almost want to put them on myself,» he smiles, crossing his arms behind his head.

«I can do it for you, if you want,» Seira suggests. Shinwoo never thought about putting nail polish on, but if it means seeing Seira more often, sign him up for some nail care and manicure. She can even put make-up on him if it makes her happy, Shinwoo would never complain about a bit of lipstick and foundation.

«That sounds cool.»

They remain in silence until the walk is over, Seira searching for her keys in the bag. «It was a pleasant day,» she tells him with a smile and a pretty blush that surely isn't make-up on her cheeks. «You're really nice.»

Shinwoo melts. His knees turn into jelly and his legs tremble so much he doesn't know _how_ he's still standing. «Anytime,» he whispers, «I had fun.»

And then, right before the door closes behind her back she turns to look at him. «I really like your shirt.»

 _That's it,_ Shinwoo feels giddy all over, and there's a new sprint in his walk, _I'm never throwing this shirt away._

* * *

Your eyes do not deceive you, guys, it's really NOT A FRANKENSTEIN/RAIZEL CHAPTER.

You thought you've seen the last of me, but you were wrong lmao

Soooo, here's another little sequel, this time of chapter 4 - featuring Ik-Han as the one who's had enough, Shinwoo as the precious bean that needs more appreciation because he's pure and lovely, Seira as my favourite babe that could literally step on you and you'd say "thanks", and Regis as the birthday boy!

I'm sorry I don't write as much as I'd like about Seira and Shinwoo, because I honestly appreciate both characters a lot (if you follow me on my tumblr you probably noticed the rants about these pure souls), but I don't have excuses, I'm just a sucker for Rai/Frankenstein.

An enormous thank you to Goddess Of Spring-Gems who's been suggesting me tons of prompts via DM - you are my savior, I will make a shrine for you and sacrifice my best cows in your name.

Thank you a lot also for those who sent appreciation messages lately. You're the best, your messages always bring me such a joy! I'm glad I've got such kind readers as you *sends love*

I am planning a few others sequels for several of the AU I wrote because I feel really attached to some of them and I'm not ready to let go. I hope you won't mind.

About FTU - the update is confirmed for the second week of July, so there will be another normal chapter before that one. Just so you know, you won't see it coming *lenny face on*

My keyboard still fucks words up. I edited as much as I could, but I'm sure most of the typos are still out there, haunting this chapter. Please, _please_ , point them out. I don't want those little shits to ruin everything. They need to stop.

Also, from July til the the end of August I won't be at home. I'll try to keep the updates regular, but I can't promise you a new chapter every week.

Follow me on tumblr to send memes (I NEED MEMES), cry over Noblesse and the ass-long arc we're getting, send theories about Facing The Unexplained, beg me to make some revelations and be denied because I'm evil, send suggestions about pairings or things you'd like to see (like other sequels/prequels, scenarios, what-ifs, and so on), because I enjoy a lot receiving your messages.

See you next chapter, and may the Force be with you!

pwmo (send me cat memes on tumblr pls)


	11. cats need careful handling

"We were freshmen in college and our dorm rooms were 5 doors down from each other. We met at 3 AM as he was decorating his door with duct tape and I was rollerblading in the hallway. I rolled up to him and told him I had some different colors of duct tape if he wanted to use them. We were married 6 years later."

\- The Way We Met

* * *

Moving in took less time than expected – but a lot more money, which doesn't make Victor particularly happy but hey, now he's got a home. Kind of.

The neighbors aren't as bad as the ones at the old place: sure, there's the kid on the 4th floor who just _loves_ to scream at random times during the day (and night, the little monster), the entrance always smells of fried chicken and he's had enough of Spanish dramas and _"You betrayed me, Alejandro!"_ , but it's nothing you can't get used to.

Victor climbs the stairs to his apartment mindlessly, opens the door and kicks away his shoes without a care in the world, and then storms toward the couch and mentally prepares for a good two hours nap.

Or that was the plan, at least, because the high-pitched cry of _something_ in the living room leads him to a sudden halt.

Victor isn't someone who gets easily scared. When he was little, he stayed up until late to watch horror movies and never had nightmares afterwards (although _The X-Files_ theme still makes him shiver because let's face it, it's creepy), he has visited a good share of haunted houses, cemeteries and abandoned asylums during the college years and is still alive; a sudden sound is _nothing_ he can't handle.

"Nothing I can't handle," he repeats to himself while hiding behind the door holding a frying pan.

(So much for being a brave grown man.)

Five minutes later, Victor leaves the hideout and is faced with the most vicious, ferocious, disgusting creature on Earth – one that even a mind such as Lovecraft's couldn't give birth to.

«You little shit,» he crouches down, arms crossed over his knees.

The cat glances at him with his green eyes, purring.

«I'm never feeding you again.»

xox

He finds the door open and decides it's finally time to tell Raizel that, if he wants to be robbed that much, he should also place a neon sign on the door saying "please rob me, I won't call the police" and leave some leaflets around. Cat in his arms, Victor calls out for his neighbor while mesmerized by the sparkling floor and absence of weird smells in the apartment.

No, seriously, that level of tidiness shouldn't be possible. Victor is a clean-freak and yet his apartment doesn't look as spotless as Raizel's. _That's not fair_ , he thinks, padding the floor while glancing around. _He doesn't even stay at home as much as I do._

Meanwhile, Raizel hasn't answered his calls. Victor isn't really comfortable with all this "nosing around someone else's apartment" - it feels like sneaking around like a perverted creep that wants to smell your sheets and steal your socks. Victor is _not_ a creep that wants to smell Raizel's sheets or steal his socks. He just wants to give the cat back, great his handsome neighbor, maybe get a drink and a little chat, and go back to his apartment to wish he had the guts to say "I'm very gay and also thirsting over you, do I have any chance or you're very heterosexual-slash-taken?", and mope.

He had a lot of chances to talk to Raizel, mostly because Clawdia – the tabby cat Raizel adopted after his life-threatening adventure – sneaks a lot into his apartment to get some more cuddles and ear-rubs and food. Raizel invited him over several times on his days off to watch some bad movies or just have a cup of coffee together, and Victor calls him up on Saturday to watch together RuPaul's Drag Race.

(Look how many lost chances. No one gets so many chances and wastes _all of them._ )

«Raizel?» he tries again, louder, and the cat mewls in his arms as to call her true owner. Finally, an undistinguished noise comes in response to his call: the bedroom. Raizel answered from the bedroom with a "here!".

«Clawdia sneaked in my apartment _again_ , she almost caused me a heart-atta—»

Clawdia falls unceremoniously on the ground with a thud followed by a combination of "meows" and scratches. She hisses, angry and offended, and then storms into the living room.

«Sorrysorrysorrysorry-» Victor sprints toward the door with his eyes shut close, words coming out high-pitched and scrambled.

Raizel should really learn a thing or two about inviting people inside.

Like, warning if he's half-naked and drenched in water.

xox

«I'm sorry for the trouble,» Raizel, now completely dressed – light gray sweater, black pants and cute socks with a fish pattern – hands him a warm cup of coffee. «Clawdia is sneaking in your apartment a lot, these days.»

«It's no bother, I just got worried—» he cuts off the part where he decided a frying pan would be an awesome weapon «—because she knocked something off and I thought it could be a robber, which reminds me—» he points at the door with his thumb, «at least close your door if you're taking a shower, or the next time you could come out to an empty apartment.»

Raizel smiles awkwardly. «You're right, I should pay more attention.»

«I would gladly welcome you to my place if that were to happen, but I think you'd prefer your things where they are right now,» Victor returns the smile, gesturing vaguely around with the hand holding the cup.

Meanwhile, Clawdia is staring intensely at him from behind the couch, growling and hissing whenever he tries to get close, probably still mad for the shower incident. _Sorry,_ Victor pleads with his eyes. The cat growls louder.

They fall in a comfortable silence, Victor drinking the last drops of coffee and Raizel bribing Clawdia out with some food.

 _You could ask him,_ Victor's brain suggests. Victor kind of agrees. He takes out the phone and, as stealthily as he can, googles "how to ask someone their sexuality sounding casual and cool".

«I was wondering,» Raizel starts – Victor is analyzing the various results Google gave, but since he has to look casual, he raises his head to listen. «I could give the spare keys of my apartment to you.»

Victor chokes.

Google "giving the spare keys of apartment = ask to get together".

«So you can return Clawdia here anytime and I can close my door, you know, for safety measures.»

Victor has stopped functioning. «Safety measures. Sure,» he repeats like a robot.

Google "how soon is too soon to ask someone to get married".

«It's practical,» Raizel concludes, fidgeting with his hands, and his cheeks are dusted of the most interesting shade of pink ever seen. Victor doesn't say a word as his brain has combusted spontaneously and he lost all the basic functions, like talking, or blinking, or _stop thinking about Raizel, dammit_ —

«Victor?» Victor snaps out of the trance.

«Sure thing, buddy,» he manages to say without blurting out "date me please I think you're hot". «I could give you mine, too, so you can catch up with RuPaul's Drag Race on my HD television.»

They shake hands, and Victor isn't sure which hand is sweating like hell – his? Raizel's? Both?

«Your Netflix account is mine.»

 _Oh,_ Victor swallows, _consume everything you want. My life is in your hands._

For a while, however, Clawdia keeps her distance from him – cats really know how to hold a grudge.

* * *

Shortest chapter of this collection but I swear, it took me forever to finish this.

I was planning to update with another chapter of Facing The Unexplained but my PC crashed and corrupted a few files :))) Chapter 7 was one of them :))) I'm fine and not totally having an existential crisis :)))

(Glad I had an old backup file with the beginning written down, so I just need to recollect HOW I wrote everything else. Wish me good luck pls)

You MIGHT remember this setting, and if you do, you're right: another sequel! Yay! I didn't really plan this beforehand, but the idea struck me one of my sleepless nights and I just went along with it.

I think I'd name my cat Clawdia. It's just... I like it. A lot.)

Quote from a heartwarming page called "The Way We Met", which I suggest you read if you want to restore some of your faith in humanity.

(I started RPDR and it gives me life.)

Thanks a lot to those who reviewed and read the last chapter, I hope you liked it!

As always, suggestions are well welcomed, so please send yours via PM here or on my tumblr profile pizza-with-me-okay, I will love you forever!

Expect, someday, a bonus story on "How Shinwoo got the hideous t-shirt he tries to wear in chapter 13" because I talked about it a lot with goddess-of-spring-gems and I finally decided to write it down. You'll find it on my tumblr, so if you don't follow me there or if you don't have an account but you still want to read it (WHY THO) PM me and I'll send you the link!

As always, thank you for your time, and see you next chapter!


	12. should I speak of love? (I want him so)

**WARNING: mentions of prostitution, non-graphic sex, drugs, alcohol (hey, better be safe than sorry, no?)**

 **No profit comes with this story. Characters belong to Jeho Son and Kwangsu Lee, author and artist of Noblesse.**

* * *

 _"The rhythm of my footsteps crossing flatlands to your door have been silenced forever more; the distance is quite simply much too far for me to row, it seems further than ever before, oh no, I need you so much closer."_

 _\- Transatlanticism, Death Cab For Cutie_

* * *

The pub smells of weed and cheap whiskey. The combination of the two creates an acre scent that burns the inside of his nose down to his throat and lungs. It's so bad he takes into consideration the idea of leaving, but as he remembers _why_ he's in this rat hole, he forces his body to relax and slides further into his seat.

It was a friend's suggestion. Frankenstein had been vague about his circumstances, but the man nodded deeply as he understood what he was going through and slipped him a piece of paper with the name of the pub. _"The best way to forget is through a flask or two warm legs"_ it's what his friend had said, and now Frankenstein is there, ready to drink himself into oblivion.

It's not like he hasn't tried forgetting. God knows how hard he has tried, how deeply he longs to wake up one morning with no recollection of his past - of the past that hurts him the most. But it's been harder than this, Frankenstein remembers, bitterly smiling at his reflection in the murky liquor. The first years spent searching were unbearable: _his_ face was everywhere, from the paintings hanging on palaces' walls to the lively people chatting in front of market stalls, to the faces of the victims of senseless wars, to priests, beggars, even famished kids and Arabian princes. He'd been on the verge of insanity for centuries, _his_ name constantly on his lips wherever he turned, wherever he ran, wherever he escaped. A ghost that had no intention to let him go. And he kept searching.

It feels better now, after almost eight centuries. The memories of his days spent inside a manor too big for two people, let alone for one, are not as haunting as they used to be, but they're still there. As much as Frankenstein wishes, _desires_ to be relieved of this burden, he knows all too well he can't allow that to happen: forgetting is not an option - if he forgets, there is no one left searching. If he stops searching, then he's as good as dead.

But even if he had, indeed, forgotten, the sight appearing in front of his drunk dishevelled self would be enough to bring all his memories to surface once again.

«Master—» he chokes, throat tightened in a way that makes the simple act of breathing _painful_.

The black-haired man turns with a coy, dirty expression, slowly licking his plump lips. His hips sway in a suggestive way as he walks toward Frankenstein, straddling his legs and pulling his chin closer with a finger.

A prostitute. He mistook a prostitute for his Master – _God_ , if this isn't enough to say how deeply distressed he his, nothing will ever be. He is not Cadis Etrama di Raizel, but their physical appearance is so similar it's unsettling: they are of the same stature, same build, their hair is exactly of the same shade. Only a mole at the corner of his lips and his lustrous green eyes betray his identity., if he doesn't take his behavior into account.

Frankenstein is momentarily distracted from his self-deprecation by the pressing of the prostitute's body on his lap, the slow grinding, his captivating scent.

«You are not my Master,» Frankenstein stutters as the prostitute licks the corner of his lips. It feels all wrong. This man is not who he wants and desires, if yet _so_ similar; he's not Cadis Etrama di Raizel. And his thoughts – shameful, lustful thoughts that make his skin itch, his body shiver in pleasure, the long nights spent pleasuring himself thinking about his pale skin under his sinful hands, mouth, body – those thoughts are _wrong_.

«I can be anyone, for you,» is what is purred in return for his observation, coated in hot, moist breath and followed by lips closing on the shell of his ear.

Frankenstein closes his eyes and breaths in the scent of the man wrapped around his body. Can his Master feel it, the unpent desire mounting and burning in the pitch of his stomach as the prostitute swirls locks of his blond hair between his practiced fingers? Can he sense the arousal through his bond, does he wonder _what_ is happening?

Part of him hopes he doesn't. How shameful would it be if his dearest, innocent Master could feel his carnal desires in this moment and how they all have his name! And his feelings, all his carefully hidden feelings he personally locked away in imaginary safes later buried under years of controlled expressions – how _embarrassing_ would it be if his Master could finally see them all, access the remotest parts of his mind and soul, read him like his favorite book.

But another part of him, one he has never known was in his possession, hopes he does. Part of him wants his Master to feel every minute, every second of the sexual intercourse and maybe, just _maybe_ , feel his possession of Frankenstein waver. He wants Cadis Etrama di Raizel to hear the moans and grunts and screams, to smell the scent of sex, to feel on his skin every scratch and bite and suck. He wants him to feel deprived of his own belonging. Frankenstein is supposed to be his – body and soul, although his Master would have stiffened if he only mentioned being _his possession_ , because Frankenstein, in his Master's kindness, was his own person – and now he's going to belong, though for a brief moment, to someone else. He wants the prostitute to fuck his mind out and hopes his Master will feel it, maybe be _hurt_ by it.

But this thought also makes him nauseous. It's wrong; Cadis Etrama di Raizel has never made him feel less than what he is, never humiliated, never a monster, always ready to let him go on his own when, _if_ the time had come. It never came. Every moment spent together has its place in Frankenstein's heart – it's the highest form of regard Frankenstein knows. He doesn't want to hurt him – his Master doesn't deserve such a cruel treatment.

His mouth clashes on the prostitute's – it's all teeth and tongue, ferocious, hot and wet. It lasts enough to make Frankenstein feel exhilarated by the lack of oxygen and only then, only when his head feels dizzy, he accepts to part. He follows the prostitute into a room to resume the action being devoured, stripped of every piece of sanity from his mind.

He abandons himself to the most primitive of pleasure. The man bites at, licks at, scratches every inch of his skin, tugs on every hair on his head, does and undoes him over and over again and Frankenstein is unbelievably pliant for someone who swore to never be pushed around by others again. With his eyes closed it's easy to pretend the succubus he's laying with now is his Master, _too easy_ , and it serves to tear him apart in the innermost parts of him as the prostitute has his way with him against the door, the wall, half on the floor and then the bed, top, bottom, his hands everywhere, his mouth, Master, nails digging half-moons in his skin, sweat, moans, teeth against teeth, tongues, _Master_ , here, sheets tangled around their bodies, the scent, there, hot, there, _there, hot, God, Raizel_ —

The light pouring from the single window traces figures on their naked bodies. The prostitute's eyes shine, those emeralds, and Frankenstein feels sick all over again. He's so fucked up.

The prostitute redresses, winking and smirking at him as his pale, moist face glints under the dim lights. Frankenstein does not move nor return those gestures; boneless, he lays over the messy, dirty sheets and spaces out looking at the ceiling. The sex burns. It burns his skin where the prostitute has scratched or bitten too hard, burns his twisting insides, but mostly burns his soul like it's a wood on summer. Regret is gall-bitter, tastes like the herbal medicine he was served as a child – so bitter that he's tearing up, ashamed, nauseated. He can't allow himself to cry. He doesn't deserve to, either. He wanted this – the casual sex, the man resembling his Master, the regret.

«Hit me up whenever, hun. I had fun,» the prostitute says, playfully kissing his lips before rushing outside.

Frankenstein realizes he's never asked for his name – he didn't need to know. After all, he was but a mediocre replacement for something, someone he could never obtain. His name was not important.

* * *

His Master curiously watches outside the big window in Frankenstein's loft, captivated by the amount of bright multicolored lights in Seoul. In his hand, elegantly held with his pinky finger outstretched like he's always done, a refined porcelain teacup filled with honey-colored classic brew tea. He stands, beautiful and slim, with his back turned to Frankenstein, who smiles bitterly: _just like in the past._

Then he clears his throat: «Are you comfortable with the current setting, Master?»

His Master nods slowly, features extremely serious as his gaze fixates on the blinking light of the radio station. Time doesn't really change much, does it?

«May I be of any service?» he further inquires, hardly concealing his eagerness to be of help, to finally _serve_ again. But his Master shakes his head, and Frankenstein finds himself anxiously staring at his feet, hands fidgeting behind his back, hoping he'll be finally asked to do something, whatever it is.

«Frankenstein.»

His head jolts up, electrocuted by the sound of his own name escaping his Master's lips. He stutters out a questioning _'Yes?'_ straightening his back and waiting for orders like a good soldier.

Cadis Etrama di Raizel stares with an undecipherable expression, head slightly cocked to a side, thoughtful. Frankenstein is hyper-aware he's sweating cold, apparently for no reason.

«You have questions.»

His Master accommodates on the couch, straight and composed, legs smoothly crossed as to not crease his clothes, and waits. Frankenstein mirrors his movements, sitting across him, legs weak and trembling. Of course he has questions. So many, so _terrifyingly_ many questions.

«Uhm,» his thumbs roll around and against each other in an attempt to ease his discomfort, and he bends forward, elbows resting on his knees. Cadis Etrama di Raizel patiently watches, silent, eyes unwavering.

«How did it feel, being asleep for so long?»

His Master slightly furrows his eyebrows and Frankenstein is quick to retreat the question.

«I'm sorry Master, this is obviously none of my business, I don't want to trouble you with unnecessary questions about—»

Cadis Etrama di Raizel furrows his brows deeper and it's the cue to shut up and give his Master the time he needs.

«There is no need for apologies, Frankenstein,» he declares. Then, quieter, he adds: «Your curiosity has not once troubled me, and it will not trouble me now. I was merely trying to understand the meaning of your question.»

«...Oh,» he scratched his neck, embarrassed. «Of course.» He cringes at the awkwardness of his own smile. God, this is unbefitting.

He regains some of his lost composure and rephrases his question. «Were you, perhaps, aware of the world? As in, could you perceive with your senses what was happening around you?»

His Master appears in deep thought, then shakes his head.

«My consciousness while I was asleep existed in a dimension different from this,» he calmly explains. «I was where Soul Weapons await summoning.»

«Could you feel me through the bond?» he asks, hands now torturing the fabric of his black trousers, after what has felt an eternity of silence. «Could you still... still _feel_ my soul?»

Cadis Etrama di Raizel rests his intertwined hands on his knee. Frankenstein waits, and waits, and waits. Somewhere inside he feels like he doesn't really want to discover whether his Master could feel him or not. If he couldn't, it would be most sad for the both of them, completely alone in their hardest times; if he could, then he knows everything about Frankenstein's sordid, shameful feelings for him.

«No,» his Master finally answers, sipping the last drops of his tea before it grows too cold, and thus no longer of his taste. «It is not possible to call through a bond during slumber.»

Frankenstein is aware of it. He's studied all about Nobles' functions – except for the bond because he didn't quite get it right at first. «My question was different. I asked if you could feel me, not call for me. Thank you for refreshing my memory on the matter, Master: it was most appreciated.»

His Master's cheeks tinge with a faint blush from his unwilling mistake. It's a blade piercing through Frankenstein's body.

«No. Sadly, my bond with you was momentarily numbed. I could not perceive your existence, nor your soul.»

The part of him that did not want Cadis Etrama di Raizel to know rejoices, victorious. At least all his disgusting, dirty thoughts and actions are still just _his._ He must be careful not to slip from now on.

* * *

The fight against the Union and their latest killing machine is over. Wounded, exhausted, and aware that this was not the end, they all return home to recover. M-21 and Takeo have sustained major injuries by fighting outnumbered in open field, whereas Tao might be the only one in the household without a single scratch. He was, after all, too busy hacking the safety system to take part in the assault. Regis and Seira received minor damages despite fighting the longest, but Frankenstein is unsurprised: they are pure-blood Nobles both possessing their Clan's Soul Weapon, thus stronger and more resistant than their enhanced-humans companions. Surprisingly instead, his Master also sustained mild injuries. Of course, this has to do with the fact that Frankenstein singlehandedly decided _he_ had to take whatever the Union decided to shove in their ways, engaging into combat as soon as enemies appeared, before Cadis Etrama di Raizel could step forward and reduce his lifespan again. The only wound on his body – a grave overlook on Frankenstein's part – is a superficial slash on his back, caused by a pathetic, yet initially successful, attempt to catch the group off-guard. Frankenstein had later made sure the attacker could _never_ pull stunts like that one ever again and felt satisfaction when he witnessed Dark Spear devour his body whole.

The plan worked just fine, but obviously, the enormous amount of enemies Frankenstein entertained by himself hadn't let him out unscathed. In fact, Frankenstein has to admit that not once in his long life he had been so close to surrender his body and soul to Dark Spear.

There's plenty of things that need to be done, like the many food-tasting sessions to prepare the ultimate ramyeon, or the analysis of M-21's development and adaptations to his werewolf side, or the data intercepted by Tao. He had tried his hardest to assure everyone he was fine enough to return to his tasks, only to be proven wrong by a painful hole as large as a tennis ball in his side. His attempts to persist with his statements were, finally, brought to an end by the combination of deep concern and exasperation behind his Master's frown.

His stomach churns when he's lead to his Master's room. Cadis Etrama di Raizel stares, feeling the sudden uneasiness, and then glances to his bed.

«Rest.» It's awkwardly gentle, but it's an order, Frankenstein knows it. The scent of the room is suffocating, and he feels like choking.

«I don't understand,» he controls his voice and breath to sound collected, but his insides are turning upside down every time he inhales. The wound burns on his side: he does not show the pain.

Cadis Etrama di Raizel slightly scowls as he glances to the wound. «You must take care of yourself,» he murmurs, and Frankenstein is gently pushed toward the bed. The nausea is so strong he fears he'll throw up on the linen sheets. He can't stay here.

«I promise I will, in my quarters—» but he's cut short as his Master places a hand on his chest, tentative – has Cadis Etrama di Raizel ever touched him? Frankenstein can't remember – and helps his head to the pillow. There is no way out, and Frankenstein feels like he's been standing on a carousel for hours, spinning and spinning and spinning...

«I will watch over your recovery, Frankenstein. Rest, now.»

But it feels so bad. The pillow, the sheets, the _whole room_ has his Master's soft scent and Frankenstein's senses are overwhelmed. His mind plays dirty tricks on him by digging up desires, scenarios long repressed to keep himself sane, and enriches them with the newfound scent – their tangled bodies on the sheets, the sweet lovemaking, the blissful feeling of completeness. The picture of a quiet morning, their hands intertwined on the pillow, how nice it feels to share those intimate moments with someone as trusting and pure as Cadis Etrama di Raizel, followed by the realization that it will _never_ happen. It brings tears to his eyes.

His Master closes on him – he's worried, _so_ worried, and Frankenstein, too, is worried, but for a completely different thing. He can feel his Master's concern flow through the bond and it only makes things worse.

 _Frankenstein_.

Frankenstein casts those thoughts away before Cadis Etrama di Raizel explores the bond too carefully. His treacherous mind has different plans: as his Master reaches the side of the bed where Frankenstein lays, the vivid memory of that night with the prostitute that looked like him resurfaces.

When Frankenstein throws up, it's with the memory of the prostitute fucking him as he chanted his Master's name like a mantra.

«Frankenstein.»

A soothing hand rubs circles on his back as he gags on air and saliva. Frankenstein feels humiliated to the extreme. It worsens when his Master – kind, lovely, perfect Master – uses a damp towel to clean him up, taking care of him in the most intimate way.

He's almost thankful when Cadis Etrama di Raizel spends just a sprinkle of his powers to force him asleep.

* * *

It's two past midnight and no one's at home when he leaves the room – Master's room – to retrieve a glass of water. Barefoot, Frankenstein slowly walks to the kitchen and his eyes fall on the coffee machine with longing. His mouth waters at the thought of a black coffee, but he's aware it wouldn't be a wise choice given how sensitive he's been in the last days. Water feels refreshing in his throat, relieving some of his pain and clearing the fog in his head.

But he was wrong, he's not _really_ alone: with the corner of his eyes he spots light coming from the living room and approaches it, careful and quiet until he can _feel_ it's his Master.

And here he is, sitting straight and composed on the couch, looking in his direction with an undecipherable expression. Frankenstein gulps, water threatening to spill on his clothes and floor because his hands are shaking so much it's embarrassing, but he steps forward.

«Good evening,» he greets. Cadis Etrama di Raizel acknowledges him with a nod. Frankenstein glances around: «where is everyone?» he asks, and then more worried adds: «did the Union strike again?»

But the atmosphere is peaceful, and when the Union attacks it's never like this, so he calms down. There must be another reason – a party with the human kids? Some sort of event at school that needed the Trio away from home? – and, from the way his Master acts, it's clear he knows.

«I asked them to leave,» it's the unexpected answer. Frankenstein doesn't get the reason, but more than everything, the truth is so shocking he's sure he's still dreaming. His Master shifts into his seat: «They won't be home until morning. I want you to be at ease.» His eyes glance briefly to the seat next to his and Frankenstein, uncertain of everything except _"I don't want to be here"_ , obeys. His throat feels dry again.

«You are distressed,» it's how their private conversation starts. Frankenstein is already dreading for whatever comes after – it feels like sitting on the edge of a cliff, blindfolded and swayed by the winds: he's going to fall, and it will hurt.

«And you won't tell me why,» his face darkens almost imperceptibly, then softens. «You are my bonded. I do not want you to be unhappy.» Frankenstein feels so, _so_ guilty, stung by the honesty and innocence in his Master's preoccupation.

Aeons of silence go by; a desert of words left unsaid, and Frankenstein has already decided it's where he'll stay forever. He cherishes and loves his Master too much to burden him with his troubles and he is also aware that his loving Master would amuse his desires if he thought it would make Frankenstein happy, and Frankenstein can't let him.

He doesn't reach for him through the bond to know what his Master is thinking, and that turns out to be the worst decision because, had he done that, he would have been prepared for Cadis Etrama di Raizel's soft continuation.

«I am aware to be the cause of your anguish.»

He freezes. His Master does not move nor speak, the angles of his mouth slightly curled downwards.

It comes out strangled, his opposition to the statement. «That's not—» he starts, and then tenses, looking down to the floor in shame.

Cadis Etrama di Raizel speaks again, softer. «Through our bond, I have felt several times feelings I assume you had wanted to keep from me. As such, I had not inquired; however...»

Frankenstein knows. He must have slipped during his breakdown, when he felt vulnerable and not in control. No matter how much his Master might have tried to stay out of his mind: in such a deranged state, Frankenstein's hidden feelings and thoughts must have poured out like a waterfall.

He's glad his Master isn't voicing what he's seen or felt because Frankenstein can't stand to listen his inner, most intimate emotions laid bare before his eyes by the most important person he has ever had in his life. The thought of it is enough to wish for immediate death.

«Forgive me, Master. It appears that my carelessness has caused you trouble,» he mutters, sighing, «I will pay more attention so that you won't be disturbed by my human emotionality—»

«I apologize for not noticing how troubled you have been,» Cadis Etrama di Raizel interrupts, speaking softly and bowing his head. Frankenstein's heart is stung by thousands of needles at the sight: it's all wrong because if it's anyone's fault, it's Frankenstein's. His Master – pure-hearted, generous Master – is not to blame. «If there is a way to relieve you of this pain, I will pursue it.»

But it's not just pain; it's a confused cluster of desire, heart-wrenching love, and devotion, all thread with the awareness of how those feelings, belonging to such an _unholy_ human being as he is, should not even exist around his Master. They are understandable because Cadis Etrama di Raizel is who he is, but no sane person would ever deem them worthy of his attention. Cadis Etrama di Raizel is supposed to be adored from afar like a God, revered with the highest regards and respect, an existence you can desire but it is to never be obtained.

«You can't.»

His Master frowns. Frankenstein inhales sharply, ready to end the conversation. «This is a matter only I can solve. As you know the nature of my feelings I won't lie about them; however, as these feelings of mine are inappropriate, I will make sure to not let them hinder my work or my position,» he is aware of the subtle changes in his Master's expression, but goes on: «That said, Master, I am pleased to know that, despite the inconvenience, you were still willing to help me.»

«There is a way for me to help, but you keep it from me,» Cadis Etrama di Raizel's eyes are narrow as they look at him.

«Because it would not be a wise path.»

«Do you think me incapable of making decisions?» he asks, with curiosity rather than irritation. Frankenstein wonders if he has managed to, unwillingly, insult the man in front of him.

«That is not what I meant.» Frankenstein's headache worsens; he rubs his fingers on his temples to soothe the pain, but it does not seem to work.

«Then explain yourself.» Again, despite the passive-aggressive looking words, his Master only seems sincerely interested.

«It's just—» how is he supposed to explain it in a way that does not sound insulting? His brain scrambles to find the most fitting and adequate words, but nothing seems good enough. «I do appreciate the offer, but it is not something you can do out of sheer obligation. That won't help me feel better – it will, but only on a certain level. Only for a brief moment. Then I'll just be even more miserable. But above everything else, I can't ask that of you. I know you would engage with me on that path, but it would be _wrong_.»

«Why would it be wrong? Whatever you ask of me, if it's in my power to give, you shall receive. And _that_ ,» Frankenstein can't believe his Master is really talking about sex and physical contact, «is in my power.»

«But you would do it because you feel like you _have_ to, not because you _want_ to _._ You have seen my feelings for you, you know what they entail; I can't accept your suggestion with things as they are.»

Cadis Etrama di Raizel allows him to finish and catch his breath. Then, as softly and sweetly as possible, he looks into his eyes and states: «You love me.»

«Yes.» Saying anything else is unnecessary because his Master has _seen,_ and his Master _understands;_ further words are unneeded, his soul had spoken loud enough.

«You never told me.»

«And I would have kept it a secret until my dying breath, but I guess that isn't possible anymore,» he answers bitterly, leaning his body, limp from exertion, against the back of his seat.

«Why?»

«Simply standing by your side was enough to make me feel fulfilled. Asking, _hoping_ for more would have been silly; expecting you to require my feelings, wishful thinking.»

«Why?» his Master insists, and Frankenstein is tired. He already knows everything – he's seen it through the bond – so why does he keep asking? Perhaps he thinks that talking about it will somehow ease some of his anguish, but Frankenstein isn't sure it will work. He has a thousand years of unrequited, secret and strong feelings that want to burst out now that he and Cadis Etrama di Raizel have been reunited, and they've settled so deep inside him that, to eradicate them, he would have to directly rip his heart off his chest and throw it in the fire.

Cadis Etrama di Raizel stands from his seat so suddenly that Frankenstein flinches; he closes in with slow, controlled strides until they're face to face. «Frankenstein,» he says after a long time. Frankenstein feels impossibly small under the towering, powerful presence of the Noblesse, and unconsciously tries to put more space between their bodies by leaning flat against the back of his seat. His Master's red eyes glinting in the dim lights put shackles all over his body, paralyzing. «Easing your burden is not something I would offer to do out of obligation. Were it not you, I would not try as hard as I am – you underestimate my affection for you.»

«Master—»

«Allow me to show you.»

Frankenstein's mind goes blank. In an attempt to clear up what is clearly being misunderstood – he can not pinpoint what, exactly – his Master opens their bond and allows his feelings to flow freely to him.

It's the most intense experience in two thousand years of life. Intense, but mostly confusing, because Frankenstein realizes he did, in fact, assume his Master's feelings for far more time than he'd thought. How could he miss all those warm, gentle things he's being shown? How could he, in all those years, fail to notice something this powerful? Was he really blinded by his own self-deprecation that he could not see the signs?

He rushes to his feet, glasses knocked off the table when his leg clashes against the wood. He's eye to eye with his Master, blood drained from his face and heart hammering in his head like a jackhammer.

«Is it the truth?» he asks, fully aware of how needless the question is when he's had the truth shown so clearly not even a minute before; still, his human nature seeks for confirmation and reassurance. And his Master concedes him that, because his Master will truly give everything he has the power to give.

Cadis Etrama di Raizel tentatively reaches out with a hand: «Deceiving you is not my intention, Frankenstein. It never was. Had I noticed before and had you not been exceedingly good and scrupulous at hiding your feelings, we would have had this conversation centuries ago. I regret not having listened better to your heart.»

Their bodies grow closer. A deafening shrill pierces inside Frankenstein's ears.

«I have neglected you and caused you pain,» he goes on. Frankenstein shakes his head. Their eyes meet, faces separated by the distance of a whisper.

«I am sorry.»

He takes the offered hand, eyes scanning his Master's face – from up close, he can see small, faint freckles on his nose and cheeks.

«You have to tell me,» he starts, mouth dry and ragged breath, «you have to tell me you're sure.»

«I am sure.»

Frankenstein corners his Master to the couch, never breaking eye contact. He swallows visibly and grips both his Master's hands in his.

«Tell me.» He doesn't say what, but he's sure Cadis Etrama di Raizel knows.

«I desire to be with you,» it's what he gets in response. He leans in in a rush, but a hand on his chest stops him mid-track. With his eyes, he questions the reason behind the gesture.

«I trust you,» his Master only says, removing the hand from the clean fabric of Frankenstein's shirt.

The space between them ceases to exist.

* * *

As soon as their lips touch, Frankenstein wants more. The contact has helped opening the bond to its fullest and he's overwhelmed, emotions and feelings he can't claim as his or Raizel's swirling frantically inside him, electric like the spark ignited behind his shut-closed eyelids the second he processed they were _kissing_.

Kissing his Master - Raizel - is everything he ever expected and more.

He presses harder into the contact and Raizel welcomes it with a shift of his body, slightly angling his head in a more comfortable position and sliding his hand from Frankenstein's side to the back of his head, treading his fingers into Frankenstein's hair to pull him closer, closer, closer than Frankenstein had ever deemed, _dreamed_ possible. They will never be as close as they are now, and the thought flips all of Frankenstein's internal switches, even the one that loudly chants "danger!", promptly ignored for the sake of indulging and prolonging the contact before Raizel, sighing, ends it almost regretfully.

Their foreheads touch. Frankenstein's hands have migrated to Raizel's waist and shoulder blade, clutching at the fabric and the skin beneath with exhilarated desperation. They gaze at each other for interminable minutes, breathing the wet of each other's breath, and Frankenstein _feels_ something shift, something change.

His Master, Cadis Etrama di Raizel, wants him. To which extent, Frankenstein doesn't know, but through the bond and Raizel's own voice it was made clear - _I desire to be with you_ , he had said, and while Frankenstein is still on a certain degree completely _horrified_ by the impetuosity of his feelings, he also has all the intention to satisfy that desire in whichever way his Master deems fit.

And so Frankenstein asks, showing Raizel the many, uncountable possibilities, and yet leaving space for everything his Master might like. He's ready to give and do and make everything his human body and mind can; whatever the request is, Frankenstein will flawlessly fulfill it without delay or misunderstanding.

Raizel answers by pressing their lips together again, chests rising and falling against each other and with the same rhythm, and soon enough Frankenstein abandons what his left of his demolished, self-imposed self-control and runs his tongue along the seam of Raizel's lips, finding them parted and welcoming - this is what his Master wants, and Frankenstein is glad to _give._ He was shown with extreme clarity, with no room for misinterpretations, and that's why he can set aside his worries and troubles.

A single, pleased hum reverberates in Raizel's mouth and Frankenstein pushes again, finding his silent request for permission already granted and reciprocated, granted from the moment they touched for the first time. A few heartbeats, and then Frankenstein is pushing Raizel on the couch and climbing on top of him, hands flying _everywhere_ on his sides and back to feel every inch of Raizel's lean, solid body under his. It feels to good to be true, but Raizel makes small noises at the back of his throat and it sends Frankenstein off the trails making him push more, ask for more than he considers appropriate, and find that his requests are, too, readily granted by his ever-giving Master.

Who is, by Frankenstein's extensive experience, an excellent kisser despite it being the first time - Frankenstein is positive Raizel has never done this before, because Raizel has never showed or talked about lovers or people he was interested in before, when they were in Lukedonia; and through the bond Frankenstein feels nothing but his Master's sincere surprise in finding such an intrusive human custom satisfying and fascinating, so much, he craves to explore it and others further.

Frankenstein shamelessly moans in the kiss when Raizel's perfectly manicured nails scrape against the sensitive skin of his neck, and pushes the man back into the cushions with a searing kiss that is nothing about sweetness and _everything_ about need. The atmosphere is scorching, their very bodies on fire, and it should be alarming and uncomfortable, except it's not, and Frankenstein only wants to feel the burning heat scar his body, to throw himself in the flames and burn, inside and outside.

He has just sneaked a leg between Raizel's thighs when the man shifts beneath him, escaping another open-mouthed kiss that ultimately lands on his neck, to press their foreheads together; the urgency, the _'I want everything and I want it now',_ dies down immediately. Usually, Frankenstein would be upset about it; but now he can see Raizel's lips swollen by kisses, his pupils blown so large his eyes might as well be black, how the flush that a few seconds before was smeared only on his cheeks has surfed down to his collarbones and maybe further down, and decides it's _so worth it_.

Frankenstein retreats in a less predatory stance, hands flying to cradle his Master's head, fingers ghosting on his face, tucking away stray locks of jet-black hair and tracing the blush on his cheeks, sometimes placing small kisses on his forehead or his nose or the top of his head, adoring. Raizel's hands loosely grip the fabric of his shirt, but the wrinkles mean a great force was applied on it - Frankenstein will not question, both because he has no need to inquire and because he does not care much about his messy clothes in this moment.

«Frankenstein,» Raizel's voice is breathy and awestruck, and it says his name so _sweetly_ and with so much affection Frankenstein is ready to cry. When Raizel's hand caresses his cheek, Frankenstein leans into the touch like a starved man rushes to food. Nothing else is said, both of them descending from the high of their first physical connection and basking in the bliss of the afterglow.

That is, until Raizel places a hand to Frankenstein's chest - in the same, careful way of the day he put Frankenstein to sleep in his bed - and lifts his body, gently pushing Frankenstein away from his personal space. Frankenstein already misses their intimacy, but Raizel is not rejecting him and looks positively content; only, maybe he just wants to breathe without Frankenstein weighing on him.

«Are you okay?» he reaches out to smooth some of Raizel's hair and helps him to a sitting position. Raizel looks dazed, but definitely unharmed - or not. Frankenstein has not missed the curious, if not unusual, way his Master tilts and bends his neck. His Master himself looks quite troubled by it, almost upset, and Frankenstein can't help but wonder what is distressing him so much.

«Is your neck in pain?» he prompts, gently reaching to its back and drawing circles into the muscles and bones.

Raizel nods. «It is inconvenient,» it's what he says with a spark of irritation, followed by a troubled sigh. «I would have liked to keep indulging you.»

Frankenstein's stomach churns. Among the many things he could expect to hear, that definitely wasn't one. Yes, he is more than aware that his Master was greatly enjoying the contact, but to hear he is displeased they had to stop because his neck hurts? No, this was definitely unimaginable.

And while he dwells on those words, his Master is already moving a suggestion: «Another room would be suitable for the purpose.»

Inside, Frankenstein feels like he's having a stroke. He stutters an answer, a broken " _yes, sure_ " to his Master's statement, and then he's up on his feet.

«I suppose the bedroom is the most suitable room,» he smooths the fabric of his shirt out of habit, and then his lips quirk upwards for a brief, precious smile that lights his eyes with a certain shyness «I have found the experience rather... Pleasant.»

To Frankenstein, those are words that nothing in the world will ever compare. Because they sound cold and disinterested, but Frankenstein knows better, like he knows for a fact that Raizel never suggests or asks, but waits for others to figure out his needs without expecting them to be met. Frankenstein will meet them, every single one of them, because Raizel desires to be with him and because he likes kissing Frankenstein so much he is upset they've been interrupted and because he's ready to blindly throw himself into something unknown only for Frankenstein's sake, ignorant to whatever it entails but ready to entrust Frankenstein with everything, and if this doesn't show just how much Raizel truly cares about, how much Raizel _loves_ him, then Frankenstein doesn't know what else does.

That's why he blindly follows Raizel to his bedroom, eyes fixed on his back like many times before, only this time is different because Frankenstein knows that, if he only reached out with a hand, he would be allowed to touch.

There is no hunger, no hurry when they reach the room. Frankenstein simply leans in to brush their lips together and Raizel sinks forward and into his chest, eyes fluttering closed and his dark, long lashes tickling Frankenstein's cheek as they stand, embracing, a few steps from the bedside. Neither of them moves towards it nor into any other direction; they indulge with each other savouring, tasting, exploring what they can reach both physically and through the bond, where they can express themselves and their feelings at their finest, where words are unnecessary because emotions speak loud enough and their minds and souls are one and the same.

When his trembling fingers reach Raizel's first button, they share a single quiet look, a request of permission and an equally silent approval; one by one, the buttons are undone with religious attention and care. Frankenstein is not touching anything else, focused on the specks of skin that he is slowly revealing, before being ripped from the trance by Raizel's own fingers on his shirt, mirroring his gesture with the same reverence. They do not speak - and what need is there, when their conversation flows so smoothly inside their hearts?

Frankenstein kisses Raizel while sliding the clothing off his arms and to the floor, where, soon, his own shirt is abandoned. The feeling of cold fingers on his heated skin is breath-taking, but also is the soft, almost whispered kiss Raizel leaves under his square jaw, tracing the shapes of his face with his lips, exploring nooks and crannies of it as to create a map.

«What should I do?» Raizel sighs, eyes closed, into Frankenstein's ear. Frankenstein motions to the bed and gracefully sets Raizel down on the covers, and affection explodes again in his heart as Raizel pulls him close again almost impatiently, as if the mere thought of being apart for a small moment is unbearable.

Once again Frankenstein is on top and on his knees, chest flush to his Master's, alternating kisses to small bites and licks his Master seems to enjoy immensely, fingers tracing the body under his with scientific precision: he slides the tip of his finger against the tendon of his neck, down to the collarbone and pectoral, then his cleavage, feeling the accelerated heartbeat in the palm of his hand and knowing his own heart beats in the same way. He ghosts, lingers, on the ribbon of skin over the waistband of Raizel's pants, and Raizel shivers. He could spend hours, days, _months_ just looking at all the different reactions he elicits in Raizel, but they have time for that; for now, he only wants to grant his Master's wishes, which apparently match Frankenstein's own in every aspect. Awfully convenient.

For a brief, fleeting moment he is back to the motel room and the prostitute. His rational mind dissects the feeling and emotions he'd felt, comparing them to this new, desired experience; how it felt wrong and unnatural back then, and how this feels like the only thing he's ever done right in his life. It's stupid to even compare a night of fleeting and unimportant passion to something so _enormous._ Frankenstein knows Raizel can see what he's thinking, the images and vivid pictures, and rushes to reassure him that, with him, it will _never_ , it can _never_ be the same.

«I know,» Raizel says as if it's something obvious - and it is, of course - and stops Frankenstein's hand as it carefully pulls his pants out of the way, bringing it to his lips and placing a warm, affectionate kiss to his knuckles. «I know,» he repeats, and Frankenstein can see himself reflected into the enlarged pupils of Raizel's eyes.

Two pairs of elegant black pants join the shirts on the floor with a deaf thud. Frankenstein leans down one last time, and then pulls the covers up.

* * *

«How do you feel?» Raizel is flush against him, hair still wet from the shower, occasionally leaving small kisses along his jaw or pulse point, one hand lazily playing with the fabric of his wrinkled shirt. Frankenstein holds him by his slim waist, thumb gently stroking the curve of his Master's body. The room is comfortably quiet, and the darkness is disrupted only by the lights of the city outside the window; lulled by the sound of traffic they bask in the feeling of bliss that comes with the absolute sense of fulfillment humming through their resonating souls, legs tangled together under the sheets and disheveled clothes that still smell of fresh laundry.

There was a kiss in the living room after they laid bare their feelings and intentions: tentatively, Frankenstein had leaned in as if still unsure whether it was a dream, a hallucination, or it was real. Raizel's lips under his were _all too real_ and he had teared up from affection and relief. There were several other kisses after that one, gradually becoming more demanding and confident, an then there was Frankenstein pushing Raizel on the couch, exchanging open-mouthed kisses that had _nothing_ to do with the uncertainty of before – they were wet, and hot, and _greedy,_ and Frankenstein had lost himself so deep in them, raw emotions unbottled after centuries, that he ignored at once his body's need for oxygen – and then there was Raizel suggesting to move into another room as Frankenstein regained his breath and composure. And then, there was _more._

 _Frankenstein._

Frankenstein blinks those scenes away, reminded by the gentle call through their bond that his Master voiced a _question,_ and thus expects him to answer.

And he does. «Elated,» he sighs as Raizel's fingers scrape against his cleavage, squeezing his body tighter in response. «And tired. Emotions are draining, and I went through a lot of them in the last hours.»

Raizel shifts in his arms, head secured under Frankenstein's chin, and hums positively as he places his ear on Frankenstein's heart.

«I can't get over the fact that _this_ ,» Frankenstein refers to everything that has happened, the discussion, the kisses, _his Master loving him back_... «That this is real. It's not a dream.»

«It's not,» Raizel's voice is muffled by the fabric of his shirt.

«It's not,» he repeats in a whisper, the sound of those words sounding incredibly pleasant as they leave his mouth. It feels right. «But I have dreamed of this for so long – in my head, this is still a fantasy. Perhaps, I just need more time to convince myself.»

«You have all the time you desire; I am here, and I will not leave you again. That, I promise.»

This, too, feels good. Frankenstein knows that it's a small lie _–_ a fool would not have noticed the dangerously shortened lifespan of his Master, but Frankenstein is no fool; he is an attentive caretaker, and with their souls so deeply connected, he can feel the flickering flame of life gradually reducing. He wonders how much time will it take before it fades, if there is something he can do to prevent a premature departure – if yes, he's willing to give up on _everything_ he has, no hesitation and no regrets. Truly an unfair fate, to be reunited on such a profound level only to be separated again.

But now it's no time for sadness; Frankenstein shifts further under the sheets with Raizel still laying on his front, smoothing the linen on their sides. He hears the front door open followed by a fair amount of footsteps reaching the living room – he counts them out of habit, to make sure everyone is back at home, where they belong. He's been doing it for a while without anyone noticing, because he is _Frankenstein_ , and no one expects him to care so much about them. But he does, because his Master cares about them and because, since they stormed into their routine, his life feels _full_. They will never know, however, because that level of softness is reserved to Raizel and Raizel alone; he's content with the place he was given and would not change it with anything else. After all, the household is in desperate need of a responsible adult, and who better than him can fill that role?

«It was a smart move,» Frankenstein praises Raizel for asking them to leave before their conversation. «Did they ask you why they were supposed to leave the house for so long?»

«Indeed, but they asked out of worry that something could happen to me while they were not here and you were unwell.»

Frankenstein smiles. The children might have gone through many hardships and, in some cases, terrible abuse, but they have remained good at heart and caring.

Their voices run down the hallway – Tao says something about the hamburger he had for dinner and then Frankenstein hears them discuss the reason why Raizel had asked them to leave: Takeo shushes the theories saying it's no one's business and Seira agrees, and apparently, it's enough for them to change the subject.

It's the last image in his mind before Frankenstein finally falls asleep, still cradling Raizel's body in his arms: waking up every morning with his Master at his side, kissing him good morning, and finding the children having breakfast in the kitchen.

And for once, he would not have minded the mess of crumpled wrappers.

* * *

 _This is definitely one of the things I enjoyed writing the most. The first part is shamelessly inspired by qdeanna's brief comic about Frankenstein and Mystery Guy That Looks Like Raizel. You may ask: "but pwmo, this is an AU collection! This small thing here is not an AU!" but worry not my sweet children, I am here to clear all your doubts. It IS an AU - a Canon Divergence. You might have noticed that from the passage about Regis and Seira both having their Soul Weapons (as far as I remember Regis enters in possession of Regasus only once - in this fanfic I decided for him to enter in its total possession but don't worry, Gejutel is all fine and well somewhere far away from the two lovebirds) and I confirm, everything is the same as canon except THIS happens._

 _Title from "I don't know how to love him" from Jesus Christ Superstar, a musical I LOVE WITH ALL MY HEART. That song is just so, ugh, WONDERFUL._

 _I had to take a break from Facing The Unexplained because chapter 7 drained all my energy and desire to keep it up. Of course, I'm still working on the conclusion, and chapter 8 is basically all set out, but I wanted to do something else to clear my mind a bit from all the planning, writing and rewriting. I have always abìvoided long-term projects like the Plague because I am not consistent enough (and I change my mind way too easily - that's what got Chapter 7 delayed af), but I recently found some REALLY OLD longfics I wrote when I was in the FMA fandom and god, have I seen an ENORMOUS IMPROVEMENT. Especially since now I lay awake at night thinking "yes you wrote that in chapter 2 but hoW ARE YOU GOING TO EXPLAIN IT?" and "yes, that's a cool idea, but WHY?" instead of writing everything down and posting without even thinking (thus ending up without proper reasons behind actions, which is BAD)._

 _That said, I'm glad to be back. I have three different exams this month so I will disappear for a while to properly prepare, and then I'll get back on track and (eventually) post the continuation of FTU. Consider this fanfic a small Late Christmas-New Year gift to all of you wonderful people, who somehow stick with me despite me being inactive af. Thanks, guys, I appreciate every single one of you_

 _I think I have said everything I had to say. I hope this little son of mine is of your liking and I thank all of you, old pals and new pals, for sticking up with me even after all this dead time._

 _A huge thank you goes to my trusted beta reader goddess of spring gems, who screams internally and externally with me no matter what fandom we're dealing with and now is in the Malec hell with me. Let's suffer together again over this, yay!_

 _As always, you can reach me here on and on tumblr to send requests, prompts, love confessions, memes, or even for a simple chat. I am not the best at small talk, but I will be more than happy to hear from you!_

 _Hope you will all have a brilliant 2018; may the new year bring you people who appreciate you as you are, the happiness you deserve, and the strength to grow through hard times._

 _Yours always, pwmo_


	13. Chapter 23

**ANNOUNCEMENT:**

As sad as this may sound to some of you, Facing the Unexplained is on a hiatus.

If you saw my post on tumblr you know what is going on; if you haven't seen the post, here is a short version: since after chapter 7, all I wrote was never of my taste. I wrote the following chapters after drastic changes to the plot that kept on going on and on, and the more I forced myself to write the more I loathed what I was doing, and shortly after I stopped even knowing _what_ I was writing. It wasn't the story I wanted to tell, and I was telling it anyway without knowing where it would end.

As such, I had decided to just drop it. Call it a day. I knew long-fics weren't my thing but tried anyway, and I simply thought "okay this is not for you, you're not capable, knowing when to stop is fine."

But I also am fond of this story. I have _tried_ to leave it be for good, but I keep on thinking about ways to fix my mistakes, to make the story better, exciting, better developed. I can't, for the life of me, say goodbye to this fic.

The fic is on a hiatus but it's not gone forever: chapter after chapter I'll try fixing my mistakes to give you what I _always_ wanted to give you and in the best way possible. It will disappear from this collection of one-shots and receive the space it deserves, so don't be surprised if you don't find the chapter here anymore.

I'll keep you updated on the fate of the series, but I'll be back and so will Facing the Unexplained, just give me some time.

Have a nice day, y'all. Stay hydrated, eat your food, study (just what I should be doing right now) and take your medications if you have to. I hope you'll still be here when I come back, you are my strength and my courage and all that I need to be confident. Wish me luck, I'll do my best not to disappoint your expectations!

Love you, pwmo


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